You're Always Holding On To Stars
by BlossomOfSnow
Summary: Blaine doesn't know who he is without Kurt anymore, so he sets out on a journey of self-discovery, coming full circle in the realization that everything he tried to find was right under his nose. Future fic. Klaine. Oneshot.


AN: So I wrote this thing while I was sitting on the TKTS Stairs over my summer break, and then completely forgot about it until recently. It was inspired by David Cook's song _Come Back To Me_, which is heartbreaking to say the least but is something I could really connect to (the whole finding yourself thing). I wanted to see how that would translate to Kurt and Blaine's relationship.

This is set in the future, and may be a trigger somewhere in the middle. But only when you squint. I tried to stay as truthful to their personalities as humanly possible, but I think that the story's premise cites that they aren't the same people as they used to be. So there.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you make it to the very end. It's a long ass one shot and this time, I meant for it to be that way. My last story wasn't supposed to be one shot but this was really written to be one. Anyway. I really hope you like it.

Once again, I own absolutely nothing. If I owned Glee, the Box Scene would have made it to the final cut of the Christmas episode.

Thanks, guys!

* * *

Honestly, he didn't know how it happened, or what events had led to that particular moment. He wished he could pinpoint the exact time, the exact emotions, the exact words that opened up this entirely different realm, introducing his heart to an ache he never knew existed, but he couldn't. He was just as blindsided as he was almost eight years ago, when a closeted football player forced a kiss on him in a deserted locker room in Midwestern Ohio.

One minute they were lying in bed, the bedside lamp just switched off in preparation for bed, and the next, his husband of two years was speaking in a hushed, pained tone that would haunt him for nights to come.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Blaine declared into the night, his voice barely above a whisper in the stillness of their one bedroom apartment.

Oblivious to the turmoil just underneath the quiet, Kurt adjusted his head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling in question. "What do you mean?" he responded, his voice just as soft, almost afraid to stir the silence.

"I'm not..." he hesitated, his palms sweating at his sides as he fumbled for the right words to come to him. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, echoing in his ears like incessant taunting. "I'm not sure anymore."

It took a moment but comprehension slowly dawned on Kurt as he concentrated on taking long, deep breaths. He wasn't blind. He knew not everything was perfect between them. He hoped it would boil over because really, technically there wasn't anything wrong. Everything was fine, and going unnervingly smooth. But somewhere along the way he felt his husband pulling away from, slow but unstoppable. He wouldn't panic, and he wouldn't be quick to assume. But there was so much pain that lingered in his husband's voice that it increased the tension between them by a hundredfold.

"I'm not sure I follow," Kurt finally answered, breaking the long silence, feigning ignorance and holding on to such sweet denial as he fought to keep his tone measured.

Blaine shifted his position and slowly turned to face Kurt, whose stiff, defensive stance remained unmoving. Kurt's eyes were trained on the ceiling, guarded, while Blaine's eyes were pleading, almost bleeding with desperation.

"I'm not sure anymore," Blaine repeated, willing Kurt to look at him and understand, but at the same time unknowing if he could handle looking into Kurt's eyes without feeling a tremendous amount of guilt. As it was, his stomach felt like lead: heavy and oppressive.

Kurt fought against the stinging in his eyes, choosing instead to sound irritated and impatient and maybe slightly disinterested in an effort meant to cushion the impending fall. It was coming, he was sure of it, and he wished he knew _why_.

He had had the feeling that something wasn't right all week, like his usually spirited husband was folding into himself. He was distant, not unlike the way he was before Kurt first moved to New York, and it terrified the crap out of Kurt.

"Not sure about what, Blaine? What bowtie you're going to wear tomorrow? I thought we decided on the purple one."

Another pained expression crossed Blaine's beautiful features, and he didn't bother to hide the tears that were now slowly trickling down his cheeks. He was well aware of Kurt's defenses—defenses he had not encountered since Blaine moved to the city for college, and he wished desperately for an absolution.

"My life. _Our_ life," he answered, his voice shaking. "Us."

And then it was like the wind was knocked out of Kurt as he bit his lip at the admission, struggling to keep his emotions in check. He swallowed the anger, and all the sarcastic, hurtful, vindictive retorts slowly erupting from his throat, choosing instead to keep a straight face even as he felt a tear leak out of an eye in rebellion.

He couldn't say he wasn't expecting it. Blaine had been withdrawn for far more than Kurt deemed acceptable. Kurt had tried to coax the reason out of him, but Blaine just gave him a sad sort of smile that he was sure was meant to be reassuring but really just looked so lonely, so resigned. But even if a part of him was anticipating it, a more magnanimous part of him was in grave denial that a deep enough abyss was wedged between him and husband of two years, and preferred to fight it, to fight for them, in the most passive-aggressive way possible. He didn't mean for it to spiral out of control this way.

"I... God, I don't want to sound so cliché but Kurt, it's not... It's not _you_," Blaine begged, the desperation woven so clearly in his words as he struggled for Kurt to understand. Kurt hadn't responded, only remained rigid and so unreadable it made Blaine's voice break. "It's not you Kurt. It's me. I think... I don't... I feel like I'm in a rut."

Kurt couldn't help the sharp intake of breath and the surge of pain welled deep within his heart at Blaine's words. He refused to look at him, refused to move, and refused to scream that _fuck_, he wasn't the only one in this relationship, and _fuck_, he was being selfish for breaking them like this.

When Kurt didn't answer, Blaine turned and clutched desperately at Kurt's hand, his heart breaking even as it thundered in his chest. He knew he had no right to feel this way. All this pain was his fault. But god, he had come to a point where everything just hurt and nothing felt right to him anymore.

"I feel like we rushed into this... Like we haven't... _lived_ enough," he stuttered, the words tumbling out almost painfully, completely lacking in filter. "I mean, we got married right out of college, and we've only been with each other and I just..." he closed his eyes hopelessly, licking his lips as he tried to arrange his thoughts. This wasn't coming out of his mouth correctly, and he was bound to make the situation worse if he didn't take a moment to regroup.

"Is there someone else?" Kurt asked evenly, his voice quiet and calm but hoarse as the words caught in his throat a little, a complete juxtaposition to the raging panic and fury bubbling in his chest.

"No!" Blaine hurried to correct, clutching at Kurt's hand tighter. "No, there isn't anybody else. Just you." He breathed in deep, his tears still rolling as he fought the urge to shudder. It was just Kurt. Only Kurt. Always. "I just feel—"

"Suffocated," Kurt cut in, his tone bitter and venomous and _why the hell was Blaine fucking crying_? Blaine didn't have the right to cry, didn't have the right to hurt, not when Kurt's own world was shattering before his very eyes, in a tiny New York apartment he had made a home of for himself and Blaine. Just— _no_. None of this was right. None of this was congruous with the way he envisioned his life. He was perfectly happy and content and shit, he had everything he ever wanted. But why wasn't Blaine feeling the same way?

Blaine swallowed, the sadness slowly overtaking him as he questioned, for the thousandth time, if he was doing the right thing. He and Kurt may have rushed into things, from high school, to college, to jumping into marriage fresh out of university, and basically building their lives around each other so inclusively that he didn't know who he was without Kurt anymore. But that didn't necessarily mean whatever rut he was in was because of that commitment. He didn't know what triggered it, or when Kurt's presence went from delightful to oppressive. He didn't know, even as his heart filled with so much guilt, when his life (his life with _Kurt_) started being a chore. It was agony to think about it that way because no matter what went down between them, he loved Kurt with such ferocity that it was hard to breathe sometimes. But his life now felt so scheduled, so boring, without room for spontaneity and he just felt suffocated.

It wasn't Kurt's fault. Kurt had been the picture of support and love and encouragement, and he still loved him as fiercely and ferociously and passionately as he did in high school, if not more. He loved him so completely, without question. But slowly, the panic started to creep in as he realized he didn't know who he was anymore, and who he was without Kurt. The thought terrified him, paralyzed him into thinking he needed to get away, just for a little while, just until he found himself, so he could be the husband Kurt indubitably deserved.

"Kurt, please—"

"Two years in and my husband has had enough of me," Kurt laughed humorlessly. "Great. Just great." It was in that moment that he realized he could never win, that all the happiness in his life was tangential and fleeting and heartbreakingly temporary. The only time he believed happiness was possible was when Blaine entered his life, but now Blaine was breaking him from the inside and he felt so displaced.

"Kurt, it's not like that," Blaine begged hurriedly. He needed Kurt to understand that it wasn't his fault, that he was perfect and there was nothing wrong him. He knew Kurt would blame himself and _fuck_, he couldn't have that. "I'm not tired of our marriage. I'm not," he said as he squeezed Kurt's hand tighter.

And then as if burned, Kurt withdrew his hand sharply and pulled the covers away, standing up and walking briskly to the window. He refused to look at Blaine, refused to be in physical contact with him, not when he felt like he was going to be physically sick. He was hyper aware of Blaine's presence and suddenly the tiny room felt like it was closing in on him, urging him to put as much distance between them as possible.

Blaine sat up and stared at Kurt's back. "It's not like that," he repeated brokenly. Even from behind, Kurt's form was hunched and defeated and a far cry from the strong, confident man he knew. It was a sight he never wanted to see again.

Slowly, Kurt allowed the tears to fall freely down his cheeks, cascading as tangible proof of the pain of his heart ripping right in his chest. For a long moment, he just stared out the window of their eighth floor apartment, crying in silence and praying to some higher being that this was all just some nightmare, a freaking joke. Because no, he never entertained the thought of a future without Blaine, never paused to think about his life without Blaine. And now here Blaine was, actively pulling himself away from the one thing Kurt thought was constant in his life. All this time, he thought they were living a perfectly happy life, that Blaine was content with where they were. But he was so wrong, and he felt foolish for thinking he was enough for his husband, for allowing himself to relax in Blaine's arms after years of always being on edge.

"Then what is it?" Kurt asked quietly, filling the tensed silence with something other than the sound of his own cries. God. He would not breakdown. Whatever happened, he would not turn into a sobbing mess.

There was a pregnant pause before Blaine answered, his head bowed down in defeat. "I don't know who I am anymore. It's always been you and me, together, and my god, I love that. I love you. I love you so much," he said surely. It was the only thing he was sure about, actually. "But it's just... I don't remember what it feels like to be me without you, and I've lost my footing, I think." He sighed, feeling the weight of his words wash over him, knowing full well how much they were cutting Kurt and scarring their marriage indelibly. "I just want me back, Kurt."

Kurt always thought that the whole idea of being in a relationship was being congruous in every way, in perfect synchrony with your partner that you don't know where you end and your partner begins. The whole concept of marriage was weaving together two lives to be one unit, the ultimate form of commitment and act of love. But he squashed down those thoughts as he listened to Blaine struggle to express his sentiments, begging Kurt to understand. Kurt felt like that sometimes, too, but it was a feeling he reveled in because he loved Blaine with all that he had, the love consuming him so completely that he never imagined living a life without Blaine. He _wanted_ to lose himself in Blaine, to bury himself in all that Blaine had to offer. He never thought that his devotion would be his downfall, that his unconditional love for Blaine would be a fault.

And as more tears fell from his blue eyes, he shuddered a breath and asked, "So what does that mean?"

To Kurt, Blaine seemed tired of their relationship, feeling suffocated by the life they had built together, a life Kurt was proud of. The very thought of Blaine not wanting that life hurt more than anything Kurt had ever experienced in his life.

"I don't know," Blaine whispered.

Kurt turned sharply, suddenly feeling a surge of anger at Blaine's words. "You spring this up on me, and tell me you're discontent, and yet you don't know what this means? What do you want to do Blaine? What were you hoping to accomplish when you all but declared that we made a mistake getting married so early?" His voice came out in a harsh whisper, almost incredulous, his tears unabashed. "Tell me, Blaine. Because this is all you— this is you, and _your_ needs, and _your_ life. Never mind that it's _our_ marriage, _our_ life, _our_ future. Just fucking tell me what you want to achieve out of all of this."

Blaine winced at Kurt's thinly veiled anger, anger that he knew full well was justified. He knew he was being selfish, and he knew this would have a lasting impact on their relationship. He knew what he wanted but any way he sliced it, he was being selfish. He wanted to be in this marriage, and he wanted Kurt so much and loved him with every fiber of his being. But he also wanted to take a break and make Kurt wait for him. He wanted Kurt to fucking _wait for him_ while he called all the shots in their relationship. He knew all of this and he burned with shame.

In his head, he tried to justify that time apart could be good for them. Blaine would find out who he was without Kurt, and Kurt would hopefully do the same for himself. But oh god, he was tearing apart the one good thing in his life, and he didn't know how else to proceed. He wasn't sure at this point if they would even be able to survive this blow, and that terrified him so much that he could feel it in his bones.

Kurt emitted a broken sob as he sank down on the edge of the bed, unable to hold his emotions in any longer. He brought his hand up to his mouth to quell the sounds, but it was almost futile. Where had the snarky retorts gone to? Where did his measured insouciance, the one that helped him survive high school, disappear to? He was now just a broken man, broken by the one person he trusted not to.

Blaine's chest ached as he moved, embracing Kurt from behind and wrapping his arms tightly around his crying husband, hoping to take the pain away. He buried his face in Kurt's shoulder and pressed his eyes closed.

"I don't know what you want out of this, Blaine," Kurt whispered. "Do you..." he gulped, almost unable to say it. It hurt to even think about it. "Do you want a divorce?"

"No!" Blaine protested vehemently, holding Kurt tighter as if it would stop Kurt from taking concrete steps towards doing just that. "No, Kurt. I don't want a divorce."

"Then what do you want?" Kurt asked brokenly. "I just... I'm trying to understand, Blaine. I'm so confused but for fuck's sake, I love you and I'm trying to understand. So just tell me what you need from me. Tell me how I can make things better. "

"Kurt..."

"Do you want me to move out? Is that it? Do you want me to go away for a while and you'll find me when you're ready? Do you want to go to counseling? Do you want to move to fucking Africa? What? Just tell me, please. Because I'm trying so hard not to take things personally when it just really is, and I'm trying to be a good husband here because, god, I just want to you to be happy."

The truth was, Blaine's unhappiness the past month had been painful to see, and Kurt often found himself questioning the ways which he thought would make Blaine happy. He had always thought he was enough. But apparently, he wasn't. At least not anymore.

Blaine shook his head, taking deep, calming breaths as he pulled Kurt back to lie on the bed. Kurt moved bonelessly, not finding it in himself to protest. He held him tighter in an attempt to soothe him, and kissed his neck. His own heart felt heavy with loneliness, not just at not knowing who he was anymore, but also for hurting Kurt this way. He never wanted to be someone to hurt him, but he was doing it now, and he felt so powerless even as that act made him powerful.

"Let's... Let's talk about this in the morning, Kurt," he suggested wearily, too emotionally drained. It almost felt like he had run a marathon, like telling Kurt how he felt took so much of his energy. And in a way, it did. Putting his thoughts out there took so much out of him. "Let's sleep on it so we can come to a reasonable decision. Please."

Kurt shook his head resolutely. "You and I both know we won't be getting any sleep tonight. And you're the one who needs this Blaine, not me. So tell me now, do you want me to go away for a while or not?"

Kurt knew the answer even before Blaine shuddered a shameful agreement.

The next day, Blaine woke up to an empty bed, a half-empty closet, and an empty feeling in his chest as he picked up Kurt's wedding ring from the nightstand.

xxx

Kurt wasn't aware of the direction he was going until he found himself lugging his suitcase in a small town in the outskirts of Connecticut. He didn't know how he got to that shady motel after he had hurried out of the apartment and called the theatre to tell them he needed a long vacation on such short notice. Honestly, the administration was too gracious for allowing him as much time off as he needed, but Kurt couldn't bring himself to care.

He was numb, so desperately, almost gloriously numb from all the crying he had done. But Blaine, his sweet, kind Blaine, needed this. So no matter how much it would hurt, he would give it to him. No matter how much his head was screaming at him to do something, he could refuse Blaine nothing.

It should have felt as if his heart was being ripped out of his chest. And maybe it would eventually; he could already predict the lonely nights he would have in this decrepit motel room. But right now, he was just so empty and cold and almost in shock. Logically he knew he was supposed to be a little more affected, screaming and yelling and throwing things against the wall. But his hands remained still, his expression stoic, and his entire body almost filled with lead.

Setting his bag on the corner, he slowly sat on the edge of the bed and set his hands on his knees, staring at the bare wall in front of him. What had he done wrong? As far as he was concerned, the decision to get married right out of college was mutual. They were both ready and sure and confident that now he was starting to doubt whether or not he was seeing everything through some distorted lens of his own creation. Did he invent everything? Did he invent the happiness in Blaine's eyes and the genuine grin on his face through the entire thing? He didn't think he was delusional, but goodness, if he did invent all of it, how had he managed to convince himself it was real? He was starting to feel guilty, blaming himself for the mess he and Blaine were in. Oh god, this was his fault. This was his fucking fault.

Had he pushed Blaine into this? Did he trick Blaine into thinking he was ready for marriage? And if he did, would their marriage survive this now? Dear god, he had no fucking clue. It was so disconcerting to think of how he had imagined Blaine's willingness to get married. And it was even more disconcerting to try to comprehend how his happiness had set the stage for his husband's grief.

And try as he might, he couldn't shake off the sinking depression now wrapping him so tightly, all because, fundamentally, he loved his husband more than anything.

xxx

It was hard to breathe. The very act of taking in air made him feel so heavy. But Blaine was strong, and he would make the most out of the time Kurt had so graciously given him. He needed to make all this heart ache worth it. He needed to make sure he emerged from this time apart so much better, for Kurt. Because goodness, he loved Kurt so much. Even now, a week since Kurt's departure, he felt like the gaping hole in his chest was widening, but narrowing just the same.

It was strange and surreal and so foreign to have the man he spent every waking moment gone. He knew the ache in his chest was entirely his fault, and he had no right to hurt over it, but it was there, almost nagging at him and constantly reminding him of how much he'd screwed up. But he couldn't take it back, and he couldn't just retract the words he had been toying with for a month. There was no doubt in his head that he needed this. He needed the time and the space and the freedom, but he wasn't expecting for it to ache relentlessly. He missed Kurt. He'd only been gone a week, but he missed him sorely that he was starting to think this was all a mistake.

He didn't know how he came to the conclusion that Kurt's presence made him feel so contained. He didn't know when a small part of himself started blaming his relationship with the love of his life for the unhappiness he felt. But he was sure that this wasn't the end for them. He refused to entertain that idea. He would take the break Kurt had so graciously given him in spite of the selfishness it was born out of, and emerge as a better man, the man Kurt undoubtedly deserved.

In all honesty, he could barely recognize himself. He was a far cry from the man he used to be, and he couldn't quite comprehend how that happened. He was happy with Kurt- oh god, he was. But there was an agonizing ache in his heart that started to grow more magnanimous every time he gave it thought. He didn't know what was missing, and he agonized over it because he was supposed to be content. To outsiders, good heavens, he had _everything_. He had a stable job that he was enjoying, he was married to the man he loved with his entire heart, his fucking high school sweetheart no matter how cliché that sounded, and he lived in a city free of ignorance and prejudice. He had everything he ever wanted and yet he was discontent, and that realization didn't help the heaviness at all.

With a sigh, he loosened the scarf around his neck and knocked on the white door before him, a brownstone on the Upper East Side that was tastefully decorated even from the outside. He heard someone shuffle and then stepped back as the door opened revealing one of the people he knew wouldn't judge him for his transgressions.

"Blaine," Wes said in surprise, his lounge pants too long on him as he stood a little awkwardly.

Blaine shot him an apologetic smile. "Hi, Wes. I'm sorry for popping in unannounced."

Wes shook his head and opened the door wider for Blaine, gesturing for the man to come in. "It's fine. Can I help you with anything?" he asked, more than a little curious.

Pulling his coat off and handing it to Wes' extended hand, Blaine shrugged. "No, we just haven't talked in a while."

Well, it was the truth. But it wasn't why he was there. There was an acute sense of longing settling into his bones, a longing to reconnect with the people around him and the things he thought put him at great ease. Wes had always been the most understanding mentor he'd had, and Wes kept him sane before Kurt ever came into the picture.

Wes narrowed his eyes, noting the dark circles under his friend's eyes and the stubble that made him look so much older than he really was. "Is anything wrong?" he asked carefully, measuring Blaine's reaction with a watchful eye.

Blaine stared at his shoes, biting his bottom lip unsurely. "I don't know," he replied quietly.

It was hard to voice it, to put words into every confusion that weighed on his shoulders, and it filled him with great shame as he tried to comprehend the way he was affecting the people around him. Was it possible to feel so alone whilst in the middle of a sea of people? Was it possible to feel so much emptiness when everything he ever wanted in his life had somehow fallen into place? He wasn't sure how, but it was there, and it made him feel like an ungrateful wretch on top of it.

Slowly, Wes led Blaine to the living room, sitting him down on the plush couch before he sat adjacent to him, watching him with inquisitive eyes as he waited for Blaine to explain. He said nothing, knowing his friend needed a moment to gather his thoughts and say the things he needed to say.

"I'm lost, I think," Blaine said after a moment, wringing his fingers nervously.

Wes raised a brow at him as he leaned back on the chair. "You know how to take the subway home," he replied, going for a smart-ass retort even as something unpleasant settled into his gut. He didn't feel like being philosophical now, and he so rarely saw Blaine so far from cheery, the last time being his first few weeks at Dalton. It was unnerving, and it made him feel just a tad bit displaced.

Blaine sighed, the sound so defeated that it made Wes worry. "I wish I knew how to take the subway home," he said wistfully, staring at the Persian carpet on the ground, trying his best not to let the heaviness weigh him down.

God, he craved so much for that feeling, that feeling of _home_. Of comfort and peace and undeniable contentment. He _needed_ it. But he was so uncomfortable in his own skin, in his own home, not knowing who he was and where he was going. He didn't understand why, and he struggled many a night to comprehend just why he found the need to "find himself" and feel like he was home when everything in his life was absolutely perfect.

There was a pregnant pause as Blaine's words settled, washing over Wes in a wave of sadness and empathy. "What happened, Blaine?" Wes asked again, his voice soft.

Frown deepening, reaching his brows and forcing its way through every fiber of his body, Blaine looked up and finally met his friend's worried gaze. "Kurt left."

"What?" Wes replied in a rush, leaning forward and urging Blaine to explain. What the actual fuck? Kurt _left_?

"I asked him to," Blaine continued quietly. "I'm so lost."

"Blaine, what in heavens name happened? Did he cheat on you or did—"

"He didn't cheat on me," he rushed to reassure, shaking his head vehemently because no, no way did Kurt hurt him in any capacity. "He left because I was lost and I told him I needed to find myself. God, I fucked up," he said, leaning back and staring at the ceiling on a sigh.

Wes sighed, copying Blaine's action and looking more confused than ever. He was trying to understand, but Blaine was giving him mere fragments of the story, and something told him Blaine needed to explain thoroughly for the situation to even make sense.

"Blaine. What do you mean you're lost?" he asked, a slight tone of exasperation lacing his words.

Blaine huffed, throwing his hands up and casting his friend a pleading look. "I don't know what came over me. I don't know how it started. But suddenly I just felt like I couldn't breathe, like I was drowning and I needed to get away."

"Blaine..."

"Maybe it's a quarter life crisis or whatever. I don't know. All I know is that I don't know who I am anymore and I'm trying to figure it out."

"Then why is—"

"And then I was trying to figure out what part of my life I can blame for all this shit and for some screwed up reason I felt like it was my marriage, and now Kurt is somewhere I don't even know, and I'm here, trying so goddamn hard to be okay, and on top of the confusion, my marriage is balancing precariously on some string and fuck. I don't know what to do."

He wanted to cry. He felt like crying, and he felt like he _should_. But he also felt like he had no right to. This was his fault—him and his mind, him and his thoughts. And really, he should have talked to Kurt about all of this instead of locking all the poisonous thoughts away because he thought they would eviscerate and leave him alone. But it grew, magnified, and now he was here, sitting on his friend's couch, worrying about his husband and worrying about his future.

Wes stared, folding his lips and assessing his friend's distressed state. Blaine was in a rut, one that Wes thought was eating him from the inside. Kurt and Blaine were golden, and if anyone could solve Blaine's problems, it'd be Kurt. But Blaine had asked Kurt to leave for a while, which meant that this was terribly serious, and he couldn't help but worry that Blaine was losing himself and then some over it.

Licking his lips, Wes continued carefully. "Where's Kurt now?"

Blaine shook his head as he buried his face in his hands. "I don't know," he answered desperately, feeling his throat constrict at the effort it was taking for him not to breakdown and sob.

"You don't know," Wes repeated slowly, trying to wrap his mind around that fact. "Wow. Okay. I see."

"I don't know how to fix this," Blaine said helplessly. "Help me fix this, Wes."

Wes wondered how he could help. If Kurt couldn't, what were the odds that anyone else could? Kurt and Blaine were possibly the strongest, most functional couple he knew. They were so attuned to each other's emotions, hearts synced so beautifully that it was easy to see how and why they were secure in their relationship. So Kurt being unable to remedy the situation changed everything so grandly, doused Wes with some sort of displacement because he always thought Kurt and Blaine could survive anything. The panic he was feeling for their relationship was both for Blaine's sake, but also for himself, because he was selfish that way. He concluded that the only way this could be fixed was through Blaine's efforts, and that honestly, Blaine was the only person who could point the problem out and find a solution. And for his sake, Blaine needed to find out soon, because every hope Wes held on for love and relationships relied so heavily on seeing the success of Kurt and Blaine's.

"Do you not love Kurt anymore?" he asked softly, trying not think of how he would have to react if Blaine said he didn't.

"I love him," Blaine replied with conviction, needing no prodding or time to think the answer through. "It's not that." It was never a question of that. Fucking god, if Wes or Kurt or anybody else only knew how his heart beat every day, constantly, with love for Kurt, they would think he was fucking out of his mind.

Wes hummed thoughtfully in response, thinking of ways Blaine could assuage the damage. He didn't think New York was the right place for Blaine to do this, to find himself and reconnect. New York was always Kurt's dream, and Kurt was Blaine's. If anything, Blaine needed to touch base on the things _he_ wanted, and not the things Kurt wanted for them.

"Maybe... Maybe you should fly back to Ohio for a while. Do stuff... Stuff you used to before Kurt. Maybe that'll help?" he suggested carefully.

"What if it doesn't?"

Wes shrugged. "It's a worth a try, Blaine. Try everything. Write music, create art, talk to your parents, go on a vacation, go to India and reflect or fly to the moon for all I care. I don't know. But at this point, you honestly have nothing to lose. Kurt's gone and you aren't being held back and—"

"He'll come back," Blaine cut off firmly, looking emphatic as he tried to reassure both himself and Wes. "He'll come back." He's not gone—he isn't.

"Then he'll come back," Wes said confidently, feeling a rush of relief bloat his heart at the surety in Blaine's voice. He needed and Kurt and Blaine together. "And when he does, make sure you made good use of the time he gave you. Make it worth his while. And make sure you love him all the more for this."

"I already do." He knew it was true.

Wes offered him a small smile, hoping against hope Blaine was right. "Find yourself, Blaine."

xxx

It was with trembling fingers that Blaine booked a flight back to Ohio, squashing down the all the guilt and anxiety with a stern reprimand of making things count. Of making things worth it. Flying back to Ohio almost made everything real. Concrete. It made the ache in his chest and the constant worry in his head so terrifyingly tangible that flying back to Ohio made it seem like he was running away.

But good god, he wasn't running away. At least, he tried to justify that he was running _towards_ something, towards a dream so that he could have a reality far better than the constant agony he was feeling. He avoided thinking about how it made him feel like a coward, like he was looking for an easy way out instead of fixing things like a real man would. Except, wasn't there strength is detaching one's self from something that made you extraordinarily strong? Kurt made him strong, kept him upright and confident and was truthfully the only force that held him together during the finals days before the night he asked Kurt to leave. And therein laid the problem. The idea of being solely dependent on Kurt terrified the crap out of him, and made him think he was absolutely nothing without him. Who was he without Kurt, then?

He was still worried about him, though He had tried so many times to call him, dialing the number but never pressing call. He wasn't sure how he could take it if he heard Kurt's voice over the wires sounding broken because of him. But he worried, wondering if today would be the day he'd be informed that his husband was dead in an alley somewhere because fuck, he had neglected him. It was a thought he didn't want to entertain, but a legitimate fear nonetheless. But no matter the fear, he couldn't bring himself to text or call or have any contact with him. He didn't have the right to. Kurt deserved this, to be free of Blaine for a bit without Blaine confusing him with a text or a call.

But now more than ever, he needed Kurt. He needed Kurt to tell him it was okay, that he was doing the right thing, that he was making the right decisions and soothe his worries. He needed Kurt to reassure him and hold him and fucking hell, he missed him. He needed Kurt to tell him that this separation was for the best, to look at him with understanding swirling indelibly in his blue orbs and tell him it would all work out. But he couldn't pick up the phone. He couldn't. He needed time for himself and that was what Kurt was giving him. But god, if he ended up losing Kurt because of this crisis, he would never forgive himself.

But this wasn't about Kurt. This was about himself. He had to stop thinking about Kurt or else this entire separation would be counterproductive.

It was with that thought that Blaine found himself in Westerville some two weeks after that night, clean-shaven and looking as fresh and relaxed as he could considering the circumstances. He took some time off from work, paid the rent and told the landlord that if Kurt came to look for him to tell him not to worry and that he was in Ohio. The landlord looked at him strangely, wondering why on earth the couple weren't speaking, but nodded anyway and promised he would.

He needed this trip to feel liberating, like taking away the lump in his throat from constantly running away from his problems. He needed the trip to rejuvenate him and remind him of how it was to live uninhibited, to value the things he had and never lose sight of the things that mattered most to him.

"Good to see you, Blaine."

Blaine grinned at his friend David, now a teacher at Dalton Academy and adviser for the Warblers. He was wearing his signature congenial smile as he half hugged Blaine and patted his back.

"You too, David."

David's grin widened as he guided Blaine through the airport and stuffed his suitcase in the trunk of his car. "You look great."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Now I know you're just messing with me. I haven't had a decent sleep in almost a month so I know I look like a corpse."

David grunted, getting into the car and fastening his seatbelt as he spoke. "Wanna tell me why you've been losing sleep, then?"

"Not particularly," Blaine said flatly, avoiding the topic all together. He didn't want to launch into yet another explanation of the reason he in Ohio alone, and he wasn't particularly looking forward to explaining it to anyone. "But it's part of why I'm here."

"You mean it's part of why you're exploiting my teaching position at Dalton?" he teased, keeping his eyes on the road as they exited the parking structure and hit the main street.

"Pretty much," Blaine laughed, already feeling his chest lighten at the very act of breathing Ohio air.

David cast him a sidelong glance. "Well. I hope you find what you're looking for in Ohio, Blaine. I know you've been wanting to leave this place since high school, and now you're back so you're probably looking for something."

Blaine nodded mutely, knowing he was here looking for himself and appreciating that David didn't push the subject. Wes and David knew Blaine well enough to know when to respect his wished, and he was grateful that they seemed to know exactly what he needed now despite how it had been since they were all together. He wasn't sure if he was going to find himself there, in a state he all but loathed for the rampant bigotry, but it was still home and he had some good memories, ones that shaped him into the person he was now.

He wasn't sure where to look first, truth be told. He didn't know where he lost himself in the first place. He tried to recall the last time he felt like himself, like his own person, like he didn't need Kurt to breathe the life into him. Back home, in Westerville or in Lima didn't really seem like the last place, but he supposed he could retrace his steps from there. And Ohio seemed as good a place as any considering he spent his growing years half-suffocated and half-free in its confines.

Before he knew it, David was pulling into the Dalton parking lot, the school walls large and imposing and nostalgic that it made Blaine feel sixteen again, coming to Dalton Academy for the first time since his beating. He liked to think he was a far cry from the kid he was then, stepping out of his shell and learning that amid the hate he had just experienced, there was love too. He liked to think he had grown as a person, less timid and more outgoing, more open to life in general and more receptive to affection he himself gave in heaps. But seeing Dalton now, even as David led him through its hallowed halls, made him realize he wasn't all that different. That maybe, he had progressed significantly from when he was sixteen, but had recently regressed so much so that he needed to pull himself out of a shell again. It made him feel mildly claustrophobic, the shell, and Dalton Academy was his savior, as it was then, so it is now.

"Where are we going?" Blaine asked, his eyes wandering the walls even as he followed David, feeling something like adrenalin coursing through him at being in a space he always felt secure in.

"Don't tell me you don't remember the direction we're headed," David replied knowingly, smirking at Blaine's fascination.

Blaine hadn't been back at Dalton Academy since his senior year at McKinley, and it felt so different now. Walking through the marbled halls and passing through a sea of blue blazers made his heart ache a little. He had spent some of the happiest years of his life at Dalton, and being immersed in its culture, in something so poignantly _Dalton_ almost had him tearing up. He took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his Alma Mater (because really, he was still a Dalton man) and feeling his skin tingle with excitement.

"No, I know where we're going," Blaine answered quietly, his feet leading him almost mechanically, drawn with magnetic force to the room that witnessed him blossoming from a scared public school transfer, to a charismatic lead singer. His feet were walking on their own accord, like muscle memory, knowing exactly what to do and where to go within the walls of a place so prestigious that Blaine always felt humbled to be in its confined.

Stopping abruptly, David pressed his hand into the door handle and grinned widely at Blaine, his eyes twinkling with delight and anticipation that Blaine had to wonder very briefly what David was up to.

"Welcome back to Dalton," he said happily as he pushed the door open, revealing a new generation of Warblers scattered across the room but united in harmony as they sang with enthusiasm and passion, enthusiasm and passion Blaine once possessed as the leader of such a tight-knit group.

Blaine gaped, watching as the doors opened wider and the Warblers sang a perfect rendition of a song that haunted him for so long a time after one porcelain-skinned boy left these very same walls.

Somewhere Only We Know.

David knew. David knew why Blaine was here. Wes had called him and instructed him to make sure Blaine was moved. _Moved_. At first he didn't know how he'd accomplish that, but he knew the Warblers were Blaine's world, the best part of his day, his little nook in the universe where he felt like he belonged. Although the pieces were rough, and the fragments of the story not piecing together very well, Wes was adamant about one thing: make sure Blaine was enthused. David didn't necessarily know everything, but he knew enough to come up with a grand scheme that meant hasty preparation of a song he hadn't heard in a while, and the perfection of its melody sure to haunt whoever was listening. It was gratifying seeing Blaine awed expression now, his mouth agape and his eyes shining at the sight of the boys singing a song that brought an abundance of memories and emotions.

David had always felt some sort of sadness for Blaine. When he first transferred, he seemed so scared and so entirely scarred by reality he could have gone a few more years without knowing. He never wanted to see Blaine retreat again, and so to see him the way he was now almost felt like deja vu, like the walls of Dalton suddenly morphed into a real time-machine, transporting him to a time when all he wanted was for Blaine to crack a smile and not look so forlorn.

In return, Blaine was frozen. He felt a familiar burn at the back of his eyes at the music filling his senses, enrapturing him to a time and place of simplicity. The song reminded him so fiercely of Kurt, of how difficult it was to see him leave but how amazing it felt when Kurt had promised he would never say goodbye. He held on so ferociously to those words, to the promise, and lived by it, allowing Kurt to take a piece of his heart. The first piece of it he gave and willingly gotten something in return.

He supposed that that was the first time he started to lose himself, although at that time it didn't necessarily feel like losing. Even now, he still felt like he gained an immense amount of _everything_ by taking that first concrete step and giving Kurt a part of him. He didn't regret it, but he now realized how and when he had allowed himself to make Kurt his world, to lose some sense of self so he could love Kurt unconditionally.

Kurt had moved him, and he echoed those words when he finally admitted to Kurt that he'd been looking for him forever. He didn't think it was a bad thing to make Kurt the center of it all because he knew Kurt's universe revolved the same way, that Kurt felt just as passionate about Blaine as Blaine did for him. But hearing the words that accompanied the idea that there was a place only he and Kurt knew of, that only he and Kurt existed in, had brought about a significant amount of realizations he never thought of before.

There was an ache in his heart now, more than missing Kurt and hurting over what had transpired between them. The ache, now, was longing—intense longing, like he wanted to be part of the chorus and know and feel everything just as he did the last he knew he was himself. He may as well have been seeing the entire scene unfold before his eyes in black and white, or sepia-tinted lenses, because he suddenly felt old, like everything about Dalton felt like such a long time ago, a time long gone.

But more than Kurt, more than the memory of singing it at McKinley's courtyard and risking both his and Kurt's safety, more than the longing, the words of the song resonated in his heart. This place, Dalton, this feeling—these were all things only _he_ knew. He knew every nook and cranny of this building like the back of his hand, knew full well how being ensconced in its walls made him feel safe and complete. More than Kurt, the song stirred in him a poignant sense of coming home, of being welcomed with wide arms in the place he grew to love immensely.

When the song ended, loud cheers echoed all around him, noticing for the first time that the singing had gathered a large crowd of students, just as it always did during his time. Blaine allowed himself a grin as he applauded enthusiastically with all of them, eyes meeting David's briefly and conveying his gratitude for the warm welcome back.

Blaine Anderson was a Dalton man, a Warbler, his years at the institution shaping him and teaching him to be the gentleman he was now. He was polite and dapper and so maddeningly courteous, taught to uphold his integrity regardless of the circumstances. Watching the Warblers helped him connect to the fact that he was essentially the product of a good school teaching him to be a good man. A good man in every sense of the word. Dalton taught him the value of hard work, of intellect and of prestige, and essentially made him the man Kurt met on the staircase years ago. He was who he was when he met Kurt because of Dalton, and that realization made him breathe a little easier, loosening the know in his stomach just a little.

xxx

He never took his wedding ring off. It didn't feel right, and he was sure he could never picture his future not married to Kurt. He firmly believed that this wasn't the end for them. This was a pause, and he considered himself a married man even as he clutched Kurt's wedding ring in his right hand, between his thumb and pointer finger, the weight of it seeming so much more than it should have. Even the idea of being in possession of Kurt's ring didn't sit well with him, made something in his stomach knot a little too tightly for him to breathe. It almost meant that Blaine blamed their marriage for the rut he was currently in, and Kurt was blaming himself and trying to give Blaine some space. And although those were the implications, Blaine thought that there was nothing more blasphemous or farther from the truth.

It really didn't do him well to dwell on Kurt. He had to remind himself over and over not to think about him because this wasn't about Kurt. This was about Blaine. But something at the back of his head told him this was as much about Kurt as it was about himself, something that made him want to hurry up and allow the days to pass by swiftly, if only so he could arrive at the clear realization of what he needed, of what he was, of _who_ he was, and then ask his husband to come home. But no, this wasn't about Kurt.

With a sigh, he tucked the ring into the careful confines of his wallet and made sure it was secure. It was the only thing tying him to his husband right now, and he wasn't about to lose it. Because even though he wanted to find himself, it didn't mean that he wanted to lose Kurt in the process.

Throwing on a polo and a pair of pants, he made his way the dining room of the home he grew up in, a home his parents still lived in despite the impracticality of owning a large house when only two people lived in it. His bare feet padded along the plush carpet before hitting the cold tiles of the kitchen, where his father sat by the island, reading the morning paper and nursing a cup of coffee.

"Morning, dad," he greeted as he bypassed him and prepared a mug of coffee for himself.

"Good morning, Blaine," his dad greeted back, setting the paper down and watching as his son took a seat in front of him.

Blaine had dropped in unannounced the day before. David had dropped him off, and Blaine settled himself in his old room without much explanation. He simply said he missed his parents, effectively making his parents wonder. It was suspicious, but they weren't about to pry. Knowing Blaine, he'd come around and tell them what was bothering him as soon as he felt he was ready. But that didn't stop the curiosity from overtaking any of his parents, or the questions that were bubbling just beneath the surface at Blaine's sudden presence at the Anderson household.

Taking a sip of his coffee, his father watched him with narrowed eyes, studying the ungelled hair and the slight stubble on his cheek, a sure sign that something was definitely wrong. Blaine was nothing if not obsessive about his appearance, from his crisp bowtie to his pressed pants, the gelled hair and clean-shaven face.

"Everything okay?" he asked carefully, his hand poised mid air as he held on to the coffee cup.

Blaine looked up and met his dad's curious gaze. "Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" he replied nonchalantly, ignoring his father's tone of curiosity.

His father raised his brow at him in suspicion. "Well. You're sitting in Westerville at eight in the morning on a Wednesday. And last time I checked, you're not in high school anymore."

Blaine frowned but didn't say anything, cautiously taking a sip of his drink as he tried to come up with a reason to tell his parents. He didn't want them to worry, but he realized belatedly that popping in unannounced would do exactly that.

"Blaine?" his father said in warning, sitting up a little straighter and taking his glasses off to rest on the table.

"Isn't it enough to say I wanted to see you and mom?" he tried, hoping the frown in his voice would be enough to deter the questions from coming.

"And as affectionate as that sounds, I'm positive there's an underlying cause for that," he said knowingly, smirking a little as Blaine's frown deepened. "For one, your husband is absent. You've practically been attached at the hip since you were seventeen. Also, that stubble is unbecoming of you."

Blaine's hand immediately flew to his cheek, running his palm across the roughness self-consciously. "I didn't think those were warning signs for a problem," Blaine mumbled petulantly, dropping his hand and palming the coffee cup in an attempt to sooth himself out of his father's scrutiny.

"Blaine," he said, firm in a way that Blaine associated with his father's quiet ways growing up.

With a sigh, Blaine dropped his head and rested his elbows on the countertop. There was no way out of it. He had tired significantly of telling the story over and over, but he knew he owed it to his parents. He wasn't always very open with them about his emotions, but Kurt and Burt's relationship was stellar enough as to urge him to be a little more like them. It was always conscious effort, but he tried, simply because he knew he needed it for himself too.

"How was I when I was growing up?" he asked, the question bursting forth from his tongue without much thought.

"What?" his father asked, his voice laced with confusion even as his brows furrowed, leaning back a little in surprise. "What sort of question is that?"

Blaine shrugged helplessly, keeping his gaze firmly on the mug of coffee before him. He almost felt like he was seventeen again, telling his father about his first fight with his boyfriend. "Humor me and answer, dad."

His father frowned, eyeing Blaine uncertainly as he tried to reckon the reason for Blaine's odd behavior. "Blaine, what is this about?" he tried.

"Dad," Blaine said in aggravation, looking up to meet his father's gaze defiantly. "If you wanna know what's up, you'd best just answer my question first."

Sighing, Blaine's father leaned closer to the counter top and looked at Blaine steadily. He took a moment to ponder the query, his features reflecting the debate he was having about how exactly to phrase his answer.

"You were far too mature for your age," he said finally, his tone measured and careful. "Your thoughts ran deep and you had a big heart. You still do," he said with a smile. "I remember when you were seven, you had a project in school, something about giving up a favorite toy and donating it so someone else who had none could afford it. You took it so seriously and picked out a train set your grandmother bought for you before she died. You loved it a lot but you gave it away for someone else to love," he continued, his voice softening at the memory of witnessing Blaine hold the box that housed his train set as he bounded down the stairs, his curly locks bouncing along with him. "It was when I realized that you weren't just some little boy, or just like any other little boy for that matter. You were always so much more than that."

A small smile reached Blaine's lips, looking at his coffee cup as he listened to his father recount the memory. He and his father weren't very affectionate, but they had their moments. They were few and far in between, but they were meaningful. He remembered the memory his father was pertaining to. He remembered convincing his mom that he was perfectly happy giving away the train he loved so much because he knew other people had none. It was his first lesson about letting go and sharing, and he supposed it opened his heart out to more lessons that shaped him into the man he was now.

"Your mom was so proud of you," he continued, a fond smile on his lips as he remembered how his heart ached back then at the thought of his son growing up too fast. "I was too."

A moment, and then, "Thank you," Blaine whispered, grateful for his father's answer.

"I'm glad that over the years, despite all the contention you've been getting from the people around you, that you've kept that big heart of yours. It was always your greatest asset, and sometimes your weakness too, but it's the best part about you."

Blaine's lip quirked up just a little more as he eyed his dad. "You taught me how to have a big heart, Dad. I know I didn't learn it in my own."

"Somehow, I doubt that, Blaine," his father replied wryly, shaking his head as if the thought was preposterous.

Blaine shrugged, the smile still on his lips. "When I came out, you could have easily disowned me or hated me or sent me to the streets to fend for myself given the town we live in. But you didn't do any of that, and… you still loved me."

It still surprised Blaine how his parents has been accepting of his sexuality. They lived in a town filled with close-minded people. His father was raised by white men who had the same bigoted ideals as the people in Ohio did, and his mother, being born and raised in the Philippines, was such a devout woman and held on so tightly to her faith. He had expected them to love him less, to hate him, but they had graciously accepted him, strengthening their relationship in ways Blaine couldn't have imagined before he came out. Blaine remembered the fear, the anxiety that ate at him from the moment he realized he was gay, to the moment he came out to his parents. But he also remembered how his mother had gathered him into her arms and kissed the top of his head, telling him she loved him despite it. And he remembered, with heartbreaking clarity, how his father had patted his cheek in affection and told him everything would be alright.

"Blaine, we're your parents," his father said as if it were obvious. "Fundamentally, it's our duty to love you regardless of your shortcomings. But we didn't love you just because you were our son, and we never considered your sexuality a shortcoming. Any decent parent should know that. You were still essentially Blaine. Nothing changed that, and we loved you just as much if not more for it. You're not very difficult to love."

And that's what he supposed his family stood for: unconditional love and universal acceptance. His parents had recognized that Blaine was still Blaine, and made sure he knew he had a home with them. Blaine was safe in the knowledge that his parents didn't want him to change, and that his flaws made him perfect. And for that, Blaine would forever be indebted to them. He knew so many kids his age weren't lucky enough to have such accepting parents, who realized quickly that the only way out was suicide and who didn't give he bigger, brighter world a chance to prove that it would get better. He supposed that having the parents he did infinitely helped him survive some of the toughest years of his life.

Later that night, as he slipped into bed, mulling over his father's words, he came to the realization that he was every bit his parents' son. He was so lucky to have a father who understood and cared, and a mother who showered him with affection, going against all her beliefs all because she loved her son so completely. It was a humbling thought, knowing that every bit of himself was a part of two remarkable people, infinitely rich in goodness he could only hope to achieve for himself.

His parents were strong. Not just as people, but as a unit. A strong, well-oiled unit that functioned so effectively as to raise two wonderful men. Blaine knew he wanted his parents' dynamic, their relationship serving as a guide to the kind of marriage he wanted with Kurt. They were so similar sometimes that it scared him, the only difference being neither his father nor mother ever complained about the fact that they couldn't be one without the other. He knew they were still independent people, that they retained their individuality despite the years they spent married to each other. But it amazed him how they could be _everything_ while still being Mister and Missus Anderson. What was more astounding was the fact that they were perfectly willing to face the world's hostility for their son, to jump to his defense even if it was just the two of them against the world. For Blaine, and Cooper, they would do anything.

A quiet knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts, and he sat up straighter as light from the hallway flooded his room, revealing his mother tentatively joining him in the bedroom.

"I was afraid I wouldn't catch you awake, _anak ko_," his mother said as she walked to Blaine's bed and pressed a kiss to his forehead, smiling a little.

Blaine's father was a teacher while his mother was a nurse at the local hospital. She came to the United States fresh out of college, at a time when the country was in dire need of health professionals. Despite the years she'd spent working in the US, her accent was still thick and heavy, but soothing to Blaine's ears. Something about the way she said the words felt like home to Blaine, comforting and solid and reassuring.

"I'm fine, Ma," he said, offering her a small smile as she sat on the edge of the bed, facing him.

"You're thin," she commented, measuring Blaine's appearance even as the room was half-bathed in darkness. "Haven't you been eating?"

"I've been eating," he replied, not wanting to give the impression that neither himself nor Kurt were taking care of him. "We're just not big rice eaters at home so..."

"I see," she said, tilting her head to study Blaine. There was silence for a moment before she continued. "Your father told me about your question this morning."

Blaine frowned, honestly not wanting to have the same conversation again. "It's nothing, Ma."

"_Anak_, it's not nothing. If it was nothing, you wouldn't exactly be here right now, would you?" When Blaine didn't respond, she continued. "How are you and Kurt doing?"

And really, how was he supposed to answer that? How was he supposed to look at his kind, compassionate mother in the eyes and tell her he had asked his husband to leave because he was confused? It didn't feel right. His mother may have been accepting of his sexuality, but she still held remnants of the ideology she grew up with. Marriage was sacred. Separation was never an option. She had taught him the value of commitment, and he had sworn up and down Kurt was it for him. He knew his mother would look at him with worry mixed with disappointment, and Blaine just didn't want that. But how was he supposed to lie and say they were okay when it was blatantly obvious that they weren't?

"Blaine?" she asked again, almost knowing the thoughts running through her son's head, mother's intuition and all. She resisted the urge to run her fingers through her long black hair in exasperation, instead choosing to wait in patience as her son gathered his thoughts.

Blaine sighed, fidgeting with the end of his blanket as he spoke. "Kurt and I are on a break while I figure some stuff out," he said as earnestly as he could. "But we'll be okay." He truly believed they would be okay.

"Did something happen?" she asked carefully, watching Blaine's body language for any indication of the circumstance.

Nothing happened. That was the problem. Nothing concrete triggered this chain of events, and he wasn't sure when and where he started feeling this lost. Nothing happened, and that fact alone was maddening.

"Blaine," she repeated when he didn't answer.

After a few more moments of silence, it was clear that Blaine was deep in thought, wondering how best to phrase his words so that she would understand. She sighed quietly, taking Blaine's hand in hers and squeezing it lightly.

"Do you want to know how I think you were when you were growing up?" she offered, wanting to answer the exact same question posed to her husband earlier that day. She didn't understand completely what was up, but she chose to go with her instincts.

Blaine bit his lip and nodded, finding solace in his mother's soft hand enclosing his own, grounding him.

"You were really _makulit_," she said with a smile, meaning he was rambunctious and maybe a bit of a handful whilst growing up. "You were always running around the house and your _Lola_ couldn't keep up with you because of her back. The only time she had any control over you was when she bribed you with taking a peek at her jewelry box after you've had your afternoon nap. You were fascinated with her _payneta_ for some reason, and you kept asking her for it. You wanted to keep it," she recounted with fondness. "You would weave it through your curls and prance around her room and beg her everyday because you wanted to keep it." She paused, squeezing Blaine's hand again. "You never gave that cause up."

Blaine licked his lips, the memory of his Lola's jade _payneta_ washing over him, recalling how she had passed away and instructed his mother to give the accessory to him. He kept it because it made him feel closer to her in so many ways, treasured it immensely that to this day, the precious hair accessory sat securely in the safe behind his and Kurt's closet.

"You were so persevering," she continued, "and because of it, you always ended up getting exactly what you wanted."

"You put it so well, Ma," Blaine commented. "_Persevering_. To other people I probably would have just been _makulit_. I know Tita Divine thinks I'm the devil's spawn."

His mother chuckled, patting Blaine's hand in earnest. "That's only because you played with her lipstick when she was about to go on a date. _Tita_ Divine cares much about her appearance."

"Sounds like someone I'm married to," Blaine said absently, his fingers still tucked between his mother's hands.

Smiling softly, his mother squeezed his hand again. "Don't give up, _anak_," she said quietly as she stood up and pressed a kiss to the top of Blaine's head, bidding him goodnight and shutting the door behind her as she left.

And as Blaine stared at her retreating figure, he wondered just how much his mother sensed of the turmoil brewing in his heart. She always had had excellent instinct, and knew just when Blaine or Cooper was hiding something from her. It used to be something he resented completely, but was now something he took comfort in. Because even without explicitly saying everything that was wrong, his mother had successfully granted him some form of comfort, some warmth and guidance at a time Blaine knew he needed it.

Never give up. It wasn't exactly an option, but somehow he felt like being away from Kurt was a form of giving up. Instead of fighting tooth and nail _with_ Kurt, he chose to tackle it on his own like the coward he was. And god, everything seemed like ages ago. From the memories his parents had recounted, to the last time he saw Kurt, to the feeling of being completely at ease with anything.

There were moments when he wished he could look at Kurt in the eyes and tell him how much he loved him. He wanted to gaze into his eyes and memorize their exact color because fuck it, he felt like Kurt was slipping from him, like he was forgetting how it felt like to nuzzle Kurt's neck or cuddle with him in bed, like he was forgetting the taste of Kurt's lips and the exact color of his hair. It didn't make sense. He had memorized Kurt's every feature and it scared him to think that he was losing him too.

Blaine reckoned, however, that this was just his heart missing his husband, and that the mission to find himself still existed. His father had said he had a big heart, and his mother had said he never gave up. It was his honor and privilege to uphold those attributes, if only to be a step closer to ridding himself of the tightness in his heart.

xxx

"A little birdie told me you're back in the land of parental guidance."

Blaine groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he clutched the phone closer to his ear. "You do realize that it's six in the morning, Cooper."

"And three in the morning in California. What's your point?"

"You're drunk," he commented, stretching out his back muscles on the bed.

Cooper scoffed. "Nope, perfectly sober," he answered, the grin evident in his tone. "Mom called, told me you were home."

"And you chose to call me at this time? Really?" he asked, obviously not happy with being roused from bed so early in the morning.

"Get over it," Cooper said. "And stop deflecting."

"I'm not deflecting!" he exclaimed defensively.

"Uh-huh," Cooper answered. "If you're not deflecting, then tell me exactly why you're in Ohio right now, instead of having fantastic sex with your husband."

Blaine sighed, running his fingers through his curls and laying back down on his pillow. "I'm just going through some stuff. Nothing big."

"And I buy that 100%," he answered sarcastically.

It was too early to think about it. Too early to have a decent conversation about it. And much too early to be annoyed at his brother over it.

"Coop."

Cooper sighed, recognizing the warning in the way Blaine said his name. "Fine."

Blaine raised a brow in question. "Fine?"

"Fine," Cooper answered in agreement. "If you don't want to tell me, that's absolutely fine. I'll call Kurt instead and ask what's up."

"Don't call Kurt," Blaine said hurriedly. "Just. Don't."

Cooper smiled to himself. He knew how to play dirty. "Why not?"

"Just don't, Cooper," he said seriously. "I swear to God, if you call him I'm going to—"

"To what? Fly out to California and kick my butt? Because no way am I flying to Ohio to get my butt kicked."

Blaine sighed again. "Coop."

"Fine, I won't call him," he conceded. "But this is the part where I tell you you've got my interest piqued too much for me to just let the issue go. Something's up."

"Yes, something's up," Blaine answered sardonically. "But I'm not at liberty to discuss this with you so early in the morning!"

"It three in the—"

"I don't care!" Blaine half-yelled. "You woke me up so goddamn early when I haven't been getting a good night's sleep in so fucking long," he continued in exasperation, some of the frustration leaking out as he almost snapped at his brother. "And then you expect me to pour my heart out over something I haven't really processed myself—when I'm half-asleep and really just trying to find some fucking rest."

Cooper was silent on the other end of the line, obviously assessing Blaine's tone of voice. He softened, suddenly realizing how very seldom his brother lost his patience and allowed his temper to reign on him.

When Cooper didn't say anything, Blaine sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to calm himself. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me."

"No, don't apologize. I called at an inconvenient time," Cooper answered quietly. "And I'm pushing an issue you don't want to discuss." He paused, licking his lips and pressing the phone closer to his ear. "But you're scaring me here, kid. What's the matter?"

"I've just been under a lot of stress lately," he mumbled. "So Kurt and I are taking a break. And before you ask about it, I'm begging you—don't. What's going on in my marriage is between Kurt and I. I'm in Ohio for a reason."

"Which would be?"

"I really don't want to talk about it, Coop. Please."

Cooper frowned, but nodded in acquiescence. "Sure thing," he said. And then, after a beat, "Any way I can lure you into flying out to California for a couple of days?"

"Not really," he responded wryly. "I'd rather be close to the city in case anything happens."

Because try as he might, he couldn't shake off the anxiety over not knowing where Kurt was. He could have easily remedied the situation—just one quick call to Kurt to ask about him. But in the end, his desire to give Kurt some sense of normalcy only seemed too fair. So here, living in fear, was some twisted form of punishment—where he was constantly worrying over Kurt while trying to figure out who he was.

"Of course," Cooper answered in understanding. He paused again before he continued. "Anyway, mom tells me you've been cryptic. I don't know what your business about that is, but it's definitely not your best angle."

Blaine snorted, resisting the urge to laugh humorlessly. "Yeah, well. What _is_ my best angle?"

"Well, if you ask me, I'd say scruffy front man with a guitar. Front and center, camera panned in slow motion around you. Three hundred sixty degrees of good old Blainey—they could get a shot of that tight ass, too. Every gay man's fantasy. Maybe you could beat my old friend Mark Foster and sing a song that isn't some rip off of other indie bands."

"Scruffy? Really?" Blaine asked, his tone amused.

"Scruffy? That's what you got out of all I said? I basically just said you had a nice tight ass and that you could replace Mark Foster and you're dwelling on the word _scruffy_?"

Blaine shrugged, a small grin splaying on his lips. "Always the artist."

"Actor," Cooper corrected. "You'll be pleased to know we're working on a bunch of webisodes for the infomercial. You're speaking to the future Hollywood leading man right now."

"Right. Because webisodes are your ticket to Hollywood. Gotcha," Blaine teased, just a tad bit grateful the conversation was steering clear of his personal life.

"Blainey," he whined, prolonging the last syllable on a note. "You can try to be a little more supportive," Cooper exclaimed in mock hurt.

Chuckling, Blaine shook his head and dug his toes a little more into the mattress. "Sure."

Cooper allowed himself a small smile before he realized they were veering off topic. Blaine had always been good at deflection. "But seriously, dude. You could be anything. _Do_ anything. So don't act like some washed up high school teacher in a dead end job—you're too young for that. And you're too _amazing_ for that."

"I don't think—"

"Look," Cooper cut off. "You're a music teacher. And although I think that makes you a really boring person, you're actually really good at it. You're amazing and so much more talented than I am—but if you say that to anyone I'll kill you."

Despite himself, Blaine snorted. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Good," Cooper smiled. "But this? All of this? You're acting like you ran your life in a marathon. You're too young to be dealing with this sort of shit. Leaving your husband, finding yourself, being confused… these are things white men who are half bald and who haven't had sex in a decade go through. Not someone as _talented_ and as _lucky_ as you."

"Coop."

"You always acted too old for your age," Cooper said on a cross between a sigh and a chuckle. "You're way too serious. You're so focused on the things that absolutely matter that you tend to overlook the bigger picture. You're too caught up in the details. You gotta stop and enjoy the view."

Blaine licked his lips in consideration. "Have you always felt that way about me?"

"Hell yes," Cooper said, the conviction in his voice evident. "You were always trying to please people and impress people that I think you forgot to leave some for yourself."

"I never thought about it that way," he answered honestly. His fingers absently played with the edge of his comforter. "I mean, I'm a people-pleaser. But I didn't think there was anything wrong with that."

"Your strengths are also your weakness, Blainey." He paused, smiling a little to himself. "So now I'm going to take this opportunity to recite one of my lines from the webisode, just because I think it's appropriate."

Blaine bit his lip in an attempt to stem the loud laughter he was sure was going to erupt. "I'm listening."

Cooper cleared his throat, then put on a mock serious tone as was required in his script. "_Honey_, I mean it," he drolled. "Life is too good to go through it like a roller coaster. You've got to stop and smell the roses."

But instead of laughing, Blaine felt his mouth hanging just the slightest bit open, Cooper's attempt at making the situation humorous lost on him as he pondered the words. "Stop and smell the roses," he repeated.

"You got it, Blainey."

He smiled, nodding his head as he realized the truth behind Cooper's words. "Thanks, Cooper," Blaine said quietly.

"Always welcome," Cooper replied, grinning.

"And stop calling me Blainey," Blaine replied as an afterthought, indignant and mildly annoyed. "I'm not seven anymore."

"No," Cooper said, suddenly growing wistful. "You were never just seven years old, Blaine."

Blaine didn't have the chance to ask Cooper what he meant by it before his brother dropped the call, leaving Blaine to wonder just how old he really was versus how old he actually felt.

xxx

Flying back to New York some three days later made Blaine feel a little more relaxed, and a little more sure about himself. He was slowly coming to realize who he was, finding the things that were so fundamental to him. Never mind that he sometimes felt like Kurt was slipping through his fingers, or that he sometimes felt empty even with the new discoveries. What mattered was that he returned to New York with more fervor and zeal than he had when he had initially left.

It was with those thoughts that Blaine woke up and slipped into a signature outfit paired with a unique bowtie. He made sure he looked every bit presentable, shaving off the stubble and gelling his hair as he moved fluidly in his crisp polo. He looked every bit like the respectable teacher he was as he left the apartment and headed to do what he did best: teach.

Blaine loved work. He really did. He adored teaching students to appreciate music, adored seeing their eyes light up in anticipation, and adored hearing the harmony in the air day in and day out. It was frankly the most fulfilling undertaking he'd ever concerned himself with, something that was entirely his own, and it was welcome repose when every other part of his life made him feel like he was drowning.

It gave him a sense of fulfillment, like his professional life was mixed grandly with so much love and passion that he never worked a day in his life. Teaching filled him with an acute sense of strength. And now, this morning, fresh from his trip to Ohio, he felt the strength translate into positive energy.

"Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine looked up from the sheet music he was studying to see his student looking at him it with big eyes, her forehead creased along with the frown on her lips.

"Yes, Annie?"

Aside from his work at the school, Blaine gave private music lessons to some of his promising students, teaching them all he knew on the piano. It gave him a sense of purpose, as if he were imparting the world's most treasured knowledge to someone who would grow up to make a difference and make use of the knowledge supremely. It was a way of living vicariously, imposing his dreams and his own potential on kids who looked at him with adoring eyes. There was a different sort of joy to share beauty with someone who otherwise wouldn't have noticed it, and see it appreciated, and that was how he felt when he taught.

Annie frowned. "You seem a little out of it," she said, her head titled a little and her eyes narrowed like the curious teenager she was.

Blaine blushed, shuffling the sheet music between his hands, a little flustered. "Sorry. I guess I'm a little distracted."

He _was_ a little distracted. The lightness in his being allowed his head deviate to thoughts of other things, of things that he could do and prospects he could entertain to better his life. He felt light, like he was floating or bouncing or whatever, almost gliding through his daily mechanisms simply because of how free he felt coming home from Ohio.

"But you're never distracted," she pointed out thoughtfully. "This is like... _Your thing_," she said in all her thirteen-year-old wisdom, gesturing unsurely as if trying to convey something she wasn't sure she understood.

Blaine chuckled as he cracked his fingers and nodded in acquiescence. Annie couldn't elaborate on it, or translate the thought into words because, well, she was young and maybe needed a little more time to fully grasp everything, but Blaine knew what she was trying to say. "Yeah. Music is my thing, I guess."

He smiled wryly at Annie, wondering how obvious his love for the art was for someone else to notice. He had no doubt in his head that Annie was impressionable—most teenagers were. But it baffled him to think of how much passion he exuded, how much he was able to keep in the bag and how much was just bubbling beneath the surface. He sometimes thought that no matter how much he loved the craft, there were days when he was dispassionate, insipid, especially in the past month. Not that music was the only thing he did dispassionately, really. In the past weeks, he lacked every sort of enthusiasm and he feared it transcended even in his work ethic. But even when he felt like he was doing such a lousy job sharing his passion with the kids he handled, he was still a notch higher than others who only taught it because it was the only thing available, or the only thing that would put food on the table.

Annie nodded, her head still tilted to stare at Blaine as they sat beside each other on the piano bench. "Sometimes I don't understand why you love it so much," she continued, her voice just bordering on shrill, but in an adorable way. "You kind of get this look in your eyes when you teach."

"I have a look?" Blaine asked curiously, an amused expression on his face. Kurt used to tell him the same thing. His eyes were expressive, a different way of wearing his heart on his sleeve, and Kurt never failed to tell him how much he loved that fact.

"Yep. Like your eyes are smiling. It gets weird sometimes," she said with just a little frown in her tone. Her pink nail polish caught the light a little as her fingers absently played on the edge of the piano.

Blaine laughed, shaking his head at Annie's frankness. "What can I say? I like my music."

"And I don't understand _why_," she said, her eyes wide almost sassy in a way that told Blaine she would be a handful when puberty was in full swing. "It's like... I've never, like, seen anyone so _in love_ with it. Not even like, this guy from my class Joey, who plays the hobo—"

"Oboe," he corrected absently, smile still relentlessly amused.

"Yeah, that," she said, continuing as if she weren't interrupted. "He's like really weird about it sometimes but you're weirder."

Blaine shrugged, setting the sheet music on the stand. "It's all I've been doing since I was a kid, so I guess it just stuck," he replied by way of explanation. But he knew even as the words left his mouth that it was so much more than that. Music wasn't just something he did after school and on Saturday mornings. It wasn't just something his mother had coerced him into doing. It elevated into something more, something that became a quintessential part of himself, something that remained constant throughout his life and kept him company through joy and grief.

Annie raised a brow in disbelief. "I've been taking ballet lessons since I was three but it's never stuck," she pointed out. "Like, I don't love it as much."

"I guess it depends if it's... You know... In your soul," Blaine tried to explain. "Some things just come naturally to people because it's who they are internally."

"Well, it's most definitely in _your_ soul. Mr. Anderson," she said flippantly. "Because you're so much more into this than I am, so I'm pretty sure it's in mine." She paused briefly, studying the chipped nail polish on her right hand before she looked up and met Blaine's questioning gaze. "The music is in your soul," she repeated, slightly disgusted by the depth of the conversation, but knowing full well whatever it was she was saying was making an impression on her teacher.

"Yeah," he answered, conviction seeping through his voice as he realized it was probably the only thing he was sure of these days. "Music is in my soul."

And as Annie returned to studying her finger nails, Blaine had to smile. He had some of the most perceptive students, and that brought him so much joy that it was hard to explain sometimes. But Annie's words, pointing out how his soul was filled with melody, brought him just a little more reassurance.

Blaine was a music man, and a damn fine one at that. He lived and breathed every note and every harmony, incorporated so seamlessly into his life that he could scarcely imagine himself living without it. Music was in every crescendo, vivace, descrescendo and diminuendo of his life, defining who he was in a magnanimous part and shaping him so fluidly as if he were dancing, light on his toes, through life.

The thought brought a smile to Blaine's lips.

xxx

Neither Kurt nor Blaine were men of science. They studied none of it beyond what was required in school because they were immersed so fully in art, in craft, in every abstract beauty far away from what was exact and definitive. But the relativity of time, as proposed by Albert Einstein, almost felt like the most honest truth given the situation. Because for Kurt, the seven weeks they'd been apart seemed like a lifetime, like he was aging so rapidly and losing much of his strength because of all the waiting. But for Blaine, the seven weeks felt more like seven minutes, like he couldn't find the things he was looking for fast enough, hungry and craving for change and looking for himself in every corner and in every minute detail of his everyday life. Time seemed to fly by so very fast, leaving him panting and catching up with himself, with the race in his mind to hurry it up so that Kurt could come back and they could live happily every after like they had initially planned.

That was the very reason Blaine had readily agreed to his friend Kyle inviting him to an open mic gig at the restaurant they used to frequent in college, urging him to sing some of the songs he had written. Blaine wasn't a music writer by any means, but he liked to tinker with his guitar a lot, and Kurt encouraged him to write his own songs. He had a significant number of songs made, but he was always so reticent about them, shy and private because he didn't feel they were good enough. But Kyle was so enthusiastic, and Blaine figured it wouldn't hurt. Wes had told him to try everything out, to make the most of his time, and that was what he would do.

Blaine found himself sitting in front of a small crowd, his guitar poised and ready to be played, blinking against the soft light shining in his direction. He squashed down the thought at the back of his head that had him wishing Kurt was there to support him. Sure he had his whole life revolving around music, but he hadn't sung in front of an audience since high school. Honestly, he thought he was rusty, and he found himself wishing Kurt was there to whisper encouragements in his ear and reassure him. God, he was Blaine Warbler, and he used to command a crowd with his easy charisma. He could do this.

"Hey everyone. My name's Blaine," he said, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice. "This is kind of my first time doing this so I'm a little nervous."

The crowd gave an encouraging applause, the table with his friends clapping the loudest and cheering him on. Blaine smiled wryly, feeling his palms sweat as he held on to the neck of his guitar.

At the last minute, he chickened out and decided not to sing any song he had written. It didn't seem right. It wasn't the right time, or the right scene, and he definitely didn't consider himself talented enough to do something so risqué. So with a huff, he continued.

"I'm going to sing a song from the musical Rent. I put my own spin on it. It's called Your Eyes."

He closed his eyes, took a deep, calming breath, then started to strum as he sent a quick prayer to some higher being to get him through the song.

He didn't write the song but he could imagine writing one for Kurt. It wouldn't be perfect, and it would need an immense amount of polishing, but it would be heartfelt. It would be raw and honest, preserving the integrity of his sadness and conveying the sadness etched in his bones. He wouldn't know how the words would flow out of him, through his hand to the paper, but it would reflect what was going on in his heart, summoning all of his emotions into a crooked masterpiece he knew would make Kurt's heart swell.

_Your eyes as we said our goodbyes_

_Can't get them out of my mind and I find I can't hide from your eyes_

_The ones that took me by surprise_

_The night you came into my life, where there's moonlight, I see your eyes_

Kurt's eyes were bright and it made Blaine feel heady sometimes. They were blue, so blue that Blaine felt like he was drowning in it, an ocean of emotions, an open expanse of azure truth that grounded him. Kurt's eyes were his lighthouse, some abstract guide to a home Blaine had overlooked and mistaken for something malevolent and malicious, something holding him back. They were just as expressive as Blaine's, and as he recollected the pain and betrayal reflected so clearly in those same eyes the night Kurt left, Blaine felt an indescribable amount of guilt. Of agony. Of longing.

_How'd I let you slip away when I'm longing so to hold you?_

_Now I'd die for one more day 'cause there's something I should have told you._

_Yeah, there's something I should have told you, when I looked into your eyes._

Blaine was slowly starting to realize how intimately intertwined his life was with Kurt's, except this time, it didn't feel constricting. Rather, it felt liberating. Kurt saw him for who he was, where he didn't need to hide under pretense, didn't need to hide anything at all. There was beauty in the way his life fit so perfectly with Kurt's, and his road to discovery led him to the realization that his disconnect with the different facets of his life didn't even exist, but was rather unified so completely by Kurt, and his love, and his presence.

_Why does distance make us wise?_

_You were the song all along, and before the song dies,_

_I should tell you, I should tell you,_

_I have always loved you._

_You can see it in my eyes._

God. He thought he wanted the distance. He thought he _needed_ it, putting space between him and the marriage he thought inhibited him. He thought he lost himself. But as he rediscovered the different parts about him, the different things that made him fundamentally Blaine Anderson, the more he realized he was disconnected with Kurt, with the love of his life, with the only person he was willing to move mountains and cross oceans for, willing to jump into the fiery depths of hell if only to share a sweet, chaste kiss, or a moment of tender happiness with him.

Blaine was a music man, a very talented one at that. He was a singer too, apparently, because he had just sung a song to the wild applause of the restaurant patrons. But somehow, the discovery left him feeling just a little bit more empty, and a little more hollow.

God, who the fuck was he, really? He was Blaine the Warbler, Blaine the son of his parents, Blaine the teacher, Blaine the performer, Blaine the songwriter. But they were all so many, disconnected and fragmented like broken pieces of a tragically beautiful vase. It left him feeling a little more hopeless.

xxx

"Have you heard of the Trevor Project, Blaine?"

Blaine rolled his eyes at Rachel's tone, pausing from stirring his tea to shoot her a look. "Of course I know the Trevor Project, Rachel. What kind of gay man would I be if I didn't?"

Rachel shrugged, setting her dessert fork down on her plate of vegan cheesecake and casting Blaine a frown. "I don't know. But my friend from NYADA just volunteered at the call center or something like that, and he says it's been pretty fulfilling."

"Your point?" he asked, both brows raised as he took a sip of his tea.

Rachel didn't know the whole story. She hadn't spoken with Kurt in a while, at least not since he left. Blaine didn't think Kurt was in contact with anybody for that matter, and it kind of terrified him. But Kurt was an adult and he'd call if he needed anything. Blaine elected to meet up with Rachel for the sole reason of feeling just a little closer to him, to put him in a position where he could pretend he was unbothered and simply forget that Kurt was gone.

"I think it can be greatly beneficial to you," she replied, licking her lips and staring confidently at Blaine. "They're always looking for volunteers and I think you'd make a great addition to their team."

Blaine regarded her skeptically. "I don't think I'm qualified for that, Rach. It's a pretty sensitive subject, talking about suicide with troubled kids."

Rachel shrugged again. "I don't think it can hurt. You're always so willing to help, and I think you can connect with these kids on a personal level. You can really make a difference, Blaine," she urged in way that was very Rachel Berry.

Sighing helplessly, Blaine palmed the teacup and mulled over Rachel's suggestion. "You think so?"

She nodded, looking at him earnestly. "I think Kurt'll be proud to know about this endeavor in light of your soul searching. It's a truly noble feat Blaine, and Kurt will be pleased to know how you've spent the time he so graciously offered to you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," she answered confidently—

Which was how he found himself sitting in a booth on a Saturday morning, the headpiece resting snugly in place and waiting for the phone to ring.

He had to admit, the idea of helping someone this way sounded very fulfilling. Knowing he was once in the same position as these kids allowed him a better understanding of their plight, as if he could truly relate to their experience. But it was also daunting, like he had a life in his hands and the big responsibility of swaying a troubled teen from a seriously life changing decision.

He knew if his parents found out about this, they would make no secret of their pride. This was such a purposeful thing to do, and a brave one at that considering how he had to revisit his past and unpack emotions he had kept at the back of his head in a neatly packed box, gathering dust and begging to be forgotten. But mostly he thought about what Kurt would say, what Kurt would think, how his eyes would shine with pride and immense belief for him.

God, he missed Kurt. Two months apart was ripping him to shreds from the inside out. The last time they had been separated for a long period of time was during Kurt's first year in New York. That year had been absolute hell. Blaine remembered the longing every night, and the feeling of emptiness that seemed to fill his every limb and bone as if it was all that existed. Being reunited with Kurt, and then solemnly promising they would never be apart again, was the best feeling of relief, flooring him with a breath of reassurance.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by the ring of the phone, alerting him to the distressed kid at the other end of the line, desperate for any sort of hope that things would get better.

With shaky hands, he picked up the phone and recited the standard greeting on the script before him, inserting as much compassion into his voice even as he shook with nerves.

"I'm so lonely," the boy whispered into the phone. He sounded maybe about fourteen or fifteen, quiet and resigned, as if he was hiding in the literal closet by the sound of his muffled voice.

"What's your name?" Blaine asked cautiously, biting his lip so that he didn't sound as nervous as he felt.

"Kevin," the boy sniffled, breathing against the speaker shakily.

"Okay, Kevin," Blaine said slowly, "Do you want to tell me why you're lonely?"

There was pause on the other end of the line before a stuttered "Nobody understands."

Blaine took in a slow breath, trying to remember the feeling of nobody understanding what he was going through. It was a horrible feeling, he knew that intimately. Even if his parents were supportive, they just didn't...know. They weren't gay, and they didn't have to go through all the bullying, and the kids at school didn't get how confusing it was. It was a frustrating feeling, one that got him wanting to throw things and beat people and just yell until all the pain left him.

"It's so hard," he continued, his voice broken. Blaine could tell he was trying not to cry. "My parents don't understand, and my friends are all gone, and he's all I had and now he's... Gone."

Blaine swallowed. "What happened, Kevin? Tell me everything. I'm here to listen, you don't have to be scared."

"My boyfriend's family left," he started, already on the verge of tears. "His parents found out and they packed up and left."

"They separated you."

"Yeah," he sniffed. "And he let them. He just... Went with them. Didn't even fight for us."

"Were his parents—"

"They're assholes," he said, his voice bitter and every shade of resentful. "And he was so scared they'd find out and when they did they left and fuck it. He said he loved me."

"Kevin, I'm sure that if he had his way he wouldn't have left you."

"Yeah, but he didn't even put up a fight. What does that say?"

"That he was scared? And maybe that fear overtook the love he felt for you, but it doesn't mean he didn't love you at all," Blaine said softly, treading through his words with much care as he tried to alleviate the boy's pain.

"That's easy for you to accept because you're not the one feeling it," Kevin replied. "You may as well be everyone else who doesn't understand."

Blaine sighed, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to compose his thoughts. "Kevin."

"You guys keep saying that it gets better, but does it, really? Does it get better?"

"It does," Blaine said with conviction. "It gets better, I promise you. I know that right now it doesn't seem like it will, and you feel like everything is falling apart, but if you just be a little more patient, I promise you, it gets better."

There was a long pause, with only the sound of heavy breathing filling the conversation. Blaine felt the tension traveling through the wires, making his palms sweat in anxiety. God, was he even saying the right things? Was he getting through, voicing the right words of encouragement? He knew that theoretically, the advice he usually gave was sound. Concrete. But they were always poorly executed, making him the worst giver of advice ever that he now started to doubt whether he was qualified. He vaguely remembered giving Kurt the stand up to your bullies advice, and the misfortune that occurred after said advice was given, and he had to repress the urge to shrink.

"I just want Jimmy back," he said helplessly, sobbing into the phone. "I mean, what could I have done differently to keep him? What could I have said or... Whatever?"

Blaine was silent. He honestly didn't know what else to say, or how differently Kevin could have acted to keep Jimmy. He doubted he could have done anything, really. If his parents decided Jimmy couldn't stay, then Kevin really could have done nothing. Blaine reckoned that staying silent would allow Kevin to just talk, to let it all out and speak of his heartache, hopefully get them off his chest and make him feel better.

"I miss him so much," Kevin continued, sounding so broken that Blaine had to check his own emotions.

He could relate to Kevin, to some extent. He could understand Kevin's pain, and the longing behind his voice. The hurt was tangible, and he knew how it was to miss someone who was everything to a person. Jimmy was as important to Kevin as air was for breathing that being without Jimmy made him feel like he was drowning... Suffocating.

And then it occurred to Blaine. God. Being without Kurt was so much more suffocating than being with him, not that being with him was ever _truly_ suffocating. He felt so free having all the time in the world to discover himself, but missing Kurt who was the sun and the stars and the air and the music in his life felt so immensely oppressive that now it hardly seemed to matter how he felt with Kurt. All that mattered now was what he felt like _without_ him.

"I know you do," Blaine whispered, his voice heavy. "I get that. But don't let yourself keep looking at your feet because he's gone. You need to look ahead too. There's so much more in store for you."

"I don't want to move on."

"You don't have to. Lord knows love isn't something that just goes away," he said honestly. It was true. He didn't think he could move on from Kurt if he ever lost him. "But you can move forward."

"Forward," Kevin repeated warily.

"Yes, forward. You just need _courage_. It'll get better. I promise you that. I promise."

Blaine knew that for sure. He went to hell and back when he got beat up at the Sadie Hawkins, not understanding how the world could harbor so much hate for the innocent desire to love someone. There were so many moments that he felt so hopeless, like the world had dimmed and he had lost all faith he had in things getting better. But god, things did get better. His parents accepted him, he transferred to Dalton, he found his little nook in the universe in the Warblers. And then Kurt came into his life, and he suddenly just became _more_. He felt more and saw more and became more. Kurt made him more, and he wondered how he had lost sight of that, how he had allowed himself to think he could be someone better without Kurt. Kurt brought out the best in him.

xxx

There were moments in Blaine's life now when he felt he had successfully found what he was looking for, like his time apart, time alone, made him feel like he had accomplished something. And to some extent, it was true. He found himself, found who he was and rediscovered the different facets of his life that made him uniquely Blaine.

He was Blaine Anderson, the son of Thomas and Dalisay Anderson, who grew up in a biracial home filled with so much culture and abounding with a rich ancestry and history and tradition. He was Blaine, with his black curly hair and his hazel eyes, singing and dancing and playing with his Lola's jewelry. Even at a young age, he was taught to love, to broaden the scope of his heart and embrace and accept everyone and everything, to foster childlike innocence and be amass with unadulterated compassion for things around him. He grew up with an acute sense of pride— for his culture, for his ability to take the hate the world offered him and turn into something more affectionate, strengthening his resolve and filling him with a burning desire to make quiet difference. He was his parents' son, the product of a family that never felt the need to change him, and never failed to let him know he was ready and willing to give all of himself, through hell and high water, regardless of the consequences.

He was Blaine Anderson, the Dalton man, the Warbler lead singer. He was astute and confident, finding his spot and honing his skills so that he could master himself. He was smart and hard working, industrious to a fault. He learned to be the perfect gentleman, with the best manners and the most sincere smile. He was Blaine, charismatic and polite and helplessly charming, learning to use these attributes all the while learning how to keep himself in place. His years at Dalton taught him the value of discipline, of never stopping until he reached his goal, of sincerity and earnest affection that he carried with him everywhere he went. He was a Dalton man: proper and cordial and decorous, but also brave and loyal and fiercely protective. He carried that brand, that trademark through every situation, through every obstacle, now second nature as he traversed his life even thousands of miles away from its hallowed halls. He would not trade that sort of holistic education for anything.

He was Blaine Anderson, the music man. With practiced skill, he was able to woo an audience and keep them captivated, his fingers gliding gracefully across keys and strings in order to create music and harmony and soul-lifting melody. Music filled him with purpose and fulfillment, teaching him the value of art and honing that art in order to create perfection. There was never good enough, always something better, and music allowed him to lift himself off the ground and share his knowledge and talent with those who shared his passion. Music infiltrated his bones, the tiniest nooks and crannies in his head, and filled every crevice in his heart that it was impossible to see himself without it. Music made him the soulful man he was, bridging every emotion and conveying every comfort or hurt he had ever possessed in his being. Music was what filled him with every shade of happiness possible, elevating him to a place where he was capable of being so much more. It made him melodious and beautiful, almost ethereal, and allowed him to believe that with harmony that lasted forever, happiness could be more than tangential, more than ephemeral.

He was Blaine Anderson the teacher, the kind of man who imparted so much wisdom to his students, whether it be about music or anything else. His worldly knowledge, and his relentless, unfailing optimism allowed him to be a teacher his students valued immensely, mentoring them with care and guiding them with gentle hands. He never hesitated to hold their hands tighter if need be, to share with them all that he knew because he genuinely wanted them to be better, even better than him if possible. He loved each of his students like a parent would, shielding them from the harshness of the world and nurturing them with his earnest desire to lift them off the ground. He was a dreamer, and a believer, and he shared the same ideals with his young students, gazing up at stars and speaking of things too great, too intangible, but ultimately beautiful. God, he was a teacher, and he taught. Taught well. Taught and encouraged and supported, the child in him who needed acceptance and guidance transcending even the years he had to mature so that he could understand his students and provide to them their need for acceptance and guidance.

He was Blaine Anderson the artist, his words and music flowing to reflect his inner most thoughts, his pure, unadulterated and unabashed ideas. He was the product of every influence on his art, now immortalized in songs he wondered if anyone else would be able to hear. He was shy and reticent about his creations, but even in the secrecy he knew would find beauty in them. He was an artist—one who never gave up, who persevered, who had the most magnanimous heart as to cradle everything around him so tenderly. Everything around him was art, from the way he liked his coffee, to the way he walked, from the low whistles in the shower to the way he liked to smooth a magazine's pages before he read them. Everything was beautiful in its own right, his ability to recognize that beauty so inherently _Blaine Anderson_, stimulating his senses everywhere he went and keeping his heart overflowing and inspired.

He was Blaine Anderson, and every facet of his life contributed greatly to who he was now. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized how disconnected everything was, how fragmented his attributes were, as if the only thing he'd accomplished in this mess was create a false sense of clarity when in truth, everything was more jumbled up. He was his parents' son, and then he was a Warbler, and then he was a music man. He was never everything, and that realization frustrated him. He was a different person to the different people he knew, never one and the same and never coinciding. He wasn't a cohesive unit, like he was different parts all at once, and he supposed that was what made him feel lost in the first place.

He had lost sight of so many things, of the various ways he could be Blaine Anderson. But as he found them and realized how compartmentalized his life was, he started to wonder when he had ever felt like he was just one person, one unit, one but everything and everything and everything. He wondered when he was ever a Warbler and a son and a music man, instead of a Warbler or a son or a music man. He wondered when the _or_ became an _and_, if it ever was, and when all the pieces of his life had ever come together to complete the puzzle and made him whole.

And then it came, the realization, the truth that he was missing something vital, something important, something so quintessential about him. He was looking in the wrong place, in effect overlooking what was right under his nose, the only thing that made him Blaine Anderson, universal man.

Because god, he was also Blaine Anderson, the love of Kurt Hummel's life, the man who brought every part of him together and made him feel he could be anything and do anything and be _everything_ he ever dreamed to be. He was free to be everything he was. Kurt took all the parts of his life and made him whole, gluing each piece tenderly with careful love, allowing him to be all that he was, free of judgments. Kurt knew him through every stage of his life, and was the unifying factor that made everything come together smoothly and cohesively. Kurt knew him as his parents' son, knew him as a Warbler, knew him as an artist and a music man and teacher. Kurt knew him inside out and upside down, knew him from the mole on his inner thigh, to the workings of his brain, knew him and loved him through all his flaws and always encouraged him to be more. Kurt knew every trivial thing about him, like how he liked his coffee or how he never liked spring onions in his food or how he liked to soak in the shower for three minutes before he started with his routine. And then Kurt knew every profound thing about him, like why he loved bowties, and why he never shied away from physical affection. Kurt knew what undid him in bed, what every kiss meant, what his eyes said, and what he felt in the depths of his heart even before he could recognize it himself. Kurt knew him. Kurt was communion. And god, he was Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel's husband— he was everything by the very fact that Kurt loved him and knew him so entirely.

He was Blaine Anderson-Hummel, and by the virtue of that alone, he was free to be everything. Kurt unified all the fragmented parts of him, and filled the loneliness that engulfed him when he could be only one person. But god, how could he have overlooked that? How could he have allowed himself to ever think that Kurt and their marriage made him feel suffocated and contained when in reality, seeing the entire world and his life before his eyes, Kurt made him as free as he could possibly be? Kurt was the love of his life, and as cliche as it all sounded, Kurt brought out the best in him. Kurt never minded his flaws, and made him feel perfect in his imperfection, because fuck, Kurt loved him. Kurt loved him so much so that he was willing to grant him his freedom even if it hurt him immensely. Kurt was selfless, and Blaine felt the burning shame at the thought of hurting him just because, for a moment, he overlooked what was right under his nose. With Kurt, every disconnect was bridged because Kurt never confined him to a box, never once sought to contain him and who he was.

The epiphany made him feel lighter and so much more ready to conquer the future. Nothing else mattered, and he wasn't afraid, as long as he had Kurt by his side, loving him immeasurably. It didn't matter anymore that he was nothing without Kurt, that he depended so heavily on him to be who he was and maximize his potential. He now accepted and found joy in the fact that he was entwined so immensely with Kurt, one unit with him, reveling in the fact that he couldn't find where he ended and Kurt began. Kurt found happiness in that, found fulfillment in it, and as Blaine studied the situation, he found that he felt the exact same way. He was perfectly content in losing himself in Kurt, the idea now sound in his head and not frightening or disgruntling or repulsive.

God, how many people could say they found the right person in high school? How many people could say they found _the one_ and married him and existed in a happy, loving, healthy relationship so early on and knew for sure it would be forever? How many people could say then had found their soul mate, souls and hearts and minds intimately bound together to produce one solid, concrete, infallible being, strong at every point and unfailing in everything else? Very few people could say that, and he was damn proud of the fact that he was part of that minority.

He would make things right. He could breathe easier now knowing what he did, and he was going to get up first thing in the morning, call Kurt, and beg for his forgiveness. He would grovel and make sure Kurt knew how much he was appreciated, and loved, and that he was going to throw himself into making it up to him. His heart felt like it would explode with so much love for Kurt, like he would burst at the seams with the profound emotion he felt. Kurt deserved for him to get his act together and prove his love thrice over. And he would. He would do all of that. Because nothing else mattered now but the resolution, and correcting the situation with Kurt so that they could exist in the relationship they had, fully now, and uninhibited.

He was Blaine Anderson-Hummel, and Kurt Anderson-Hummel was the love of his life. Everything else he was existed because of that fact.

xxx

Blaine reckoned he needed the time away from Kurt to realize how important Kurt was to him. Although it wasn't in the way he expected, his self-discovery came, accomplishing what he had sought out to do in the first place. He supposed he found comfort in the idea of being lost in Kurt. The thought used to be frightening, to be daunting and confusing and disconcerting. But now, it was the gentle hum in his head and the persistent thrum in his heart, relaxing him and safely tucking him in true solace.

He needed to find Kurt. But he didn't know where to start looking. He didn't want to call and ask him to come home, not like that. Kurt deserved him, all of him, and something so important as asking him to come home needed to be done in person and not through phone. But he didn't know who to call, or if anyone knew where he was. Rachel didn't know. His manager didn't know. People at the theatre didn't know either. The only person Kurt told everything to other than him was his father, but he doubted Burt knew where he was because if he did, Burt would have been on the first flight out of Ohio kicking Blaine ass for hurting Kurt.

But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Burt loved Blaine like he was his own, and he had a canny knack for being understanding and compassionate, something Kurt inherited from him. If Kurt had told anybody, he would have told his father. And knowing Burt the way he did, he would have respected the decisions they made in their marriage. No wonder Burt hadn't been calling as regularly (or at all) in the past few weeks.

With a sigh, Blaine picked his phone up and dialed the garage, a number he knew by heart and dialed almost daily when he was in high school. In a matter of seconds, Burt's gruff voice echoed across the lines, the timbre comforting and homey even if it was virtual.

"Burt here."

Blaine swallowed, closing his eyes against the onslaught of emotion he was expecting. "Hey, dad."

There was a pause, and then, "Blaine?"

"Yeah, it's me," Blaine said, fighting off the tide almost constricting his throat.

From across the line, Blaine heard Burt sigh. "Hey, Blaine. How are you doing, bud?"

"I..." he tried to say, but he couldn't. He didn't know how to continue. Or how to ask. Or how to approach his father in law, ask for his understanding, and then for the whereabouts of his son. It all sounded so screwed up in his head.

Burt cleared his throat, sensing Blaine's troubles and feeling the burden on his shoulders as if it were his own. "Blaine."

"How are you?" Blaine said quietly, trying to break the ice and settling for the question in attempt to buy time. Gather more courage.

Burt licked his lips and ran a hand through his capped head as he pressed the phone closer to his ear. "Good, Blaine. Good."

Blaine nodded and swallowed. "That's good, dad."

Burt chuckled awkwardly. "Son, why don't you just come right out and say it, hm?"

For all of the things Kurt had explained about the issue, all Burt could do was understand. His son was compassionate and selfless by giving Blaine the time to figure himself out, and Burt had to respect that. So now that Blaine was calling at such a random time, Burt knew. Burt knew why, and Burt would hold back no information for Blaine if it meant they would be able to patch things up. As much as it pained him to see Kurt hurt over the issue, Burt knew that Blaine was just as much his son as Kurt was, and it was his responsibility to allow them the things they needed in order to get back to a place of perfection.

"What did Kurt—"

"Kurt told me you were going through some things. I'm not going to elaborate on that, but I respect what you and Kurt have come to decide," he said, cutting Blaine off, if only to hurry the process along.

"Are you... Disappointed in me?" Blaine asked timidly, not sure how he would react if that were the case. He was a people-pleaser for crying out loud. He lived for people's acceptance, and Burt's opinion ranked high in the things he was mindful of.

Burt sighed, taking a seat behind his desk. "No, Blaine. We're all entitled to a little confusion now and then. I hate that it's coming at the expense of Kurt's emotions, and your marriage, but what can I do?" He paused. "If I didn't know you well enough, I'd be really angry at you," he said seriously. "But I do know you, and I know you're not doing this to hurt him, and I know you're doing your best to fix things, so I can't really be mad."

"I hurt him," Blaine answered as he released a breath.

"You're hurting yourself too. I can't blame you," he pointed out.

Blaine sighed, pursing his lips and settling his gaze on the wall ahead of him. "I'm sorry."

"I know, Blaine," Burt answered, his voice quiet and understanding. Blaine wasn't telling him anything he didn't know, truth be told. "Have you...Are you... Okay now?"

"Yes," Blaine replied. "I did some things and I realized some things, and I'm ready to have him back."

"That's good to hear," Burt said with a small smile, feeling just a little triumph at Blaine's words. "Kurt'll be happy to be plucked out of his misery."

Blaine shook his head, feeling the guilt course through his veins in shame a little at Burt's words. Kurt was miserable. And although he knew Burt meant it lightly, it didn't mean make it any less true.

"Do you... Do you know where he is?"

Burt's smile grew wider, feeling himself exhale in relief and his heart lighten. "Yeah. Let me get the address for you."

xxx

It was close to five in the afternoon when Blaine found himself in the outskirts of Connecticut, in front of the door of Kurt's motel room and feeling incredibly nervous. His hands were restless at his side, and he couldn't bring himself to knock on the door. He wasn't sure he was prepared to see Kurt in whatever state he was in at the moment. Knowing how deeply Kurt's thoughts ran, and how much this separation affected the boy, the _man_ he loved, was enough to make him physically recoil.

It didn't feel like it was real, being there in a different state and getting ready to beg Kurt's forgiveness and ask him to come home. It almost felt like he was on the outside looking in, like he watching the story unfold before his eyes, like he wasn't in control of his actions. Everything that had transpired in the past couple of months seemed so surreal, as if it were too far from reality to even grasp. But it was real, and he was there, and he was undeniably unsettled.

What had he done with his life? What had he done in the past eight weeks? Was he even supposed to be there, in Kurt's motel? He tried not to think about how much he screwed up, or else he'd find himself leaving and accomplishing nothing. But really, how was he doing now? What ground was he standing on as he asked Kurt to come home with him?

Finally, he brought his hand up and rapped on the door thrice, doing it quickly before he had a chance to second-guess himself. He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced his leg to keep from shaking as he internally calmed himself. He needed to stay focused, to concentrate on the idea, on the epiphany of being Blaine Anderson Hummel, ready and bursting with so much of himself to love Kurt, to love him and cherish him and never ever let him go again.

Because no matter how nerve wracking this was, he was rejoicing over his realizations, over the fact that he was Kurt's husband, and the fact that he had found himself. This was a triumph in itself, the knowledge that no matter where he tried to escape, no matter what he did, no matter how deeply absorbed he was with things, he could never be far from Kurt, and he would never be without his love. He would always be found, and he would always be led home, Kurt's eyes a constellation, some abstract guide or lighthouse to the safety that was being ensconced in his strong, faithful arms. Even if on the outside, he was every shade of agitated, there was a celebration in his mind, all the apprehension draining from his body and celebrating the union of every aspect of himself in Kurt.

Exhaling slowly, he brought his hand up to knock again when no answer came after a moment. He felt the tendrils of his excitement flush to his fingers, now far from baleful and more energetic, pumping his veins with renewed determination to inundate himself with the love he felt for Kurt.

It took another moment before he heard the movement of the chain behind the door, followed by the rough pull of the door, revealing his husband, pale and thin, almost emotionless as he stared at Blaine. Blaine stared back, feeling the determination drain from him as he noted the circles under Kurt's eyes, and the stoic expression now overtaking his features.

It took every once of his self control not to fling himself at Kurt and hold him tight, embrace him and bury him in the lines of love, fitting every curve of their bodies perfectly and murmuring every apology like some benediction, a prayer that would make everything fall into place. God, he hadn't seen his husband into two months and all he could do was stand in the doorway of his shady motel, eyes watering with the realization that _he did this_, turned a cynic of his husband, responsible for the hollow look he was now offering him in exchange of his own sad one.

"Kurt," he whispered, feeling the familiar burn of tears at the back of his eyes, his throat constricted in a way that only meant he was overcome fiercely with emotion.

Kurt just stared, unrelenting, almost holding the walls up around him impenetrably. His face betrayed no emotion, only kept stubbornly blank as he watched Blaine plead with him with his eyes. If he was surprised to see Blaine there, Blaine couldn't tell. His expression was carefully schooled, almost as if he was expecting Blaine to be there at that exact moment and willed himself to feel nothing.

Blaine swallowed, unable to help the smile on his lips amid his tears despite Kurt's reception. Because good god, he was happy. He was happy to be right there, standing in front of Kurt, seeing him for the first time in weeks and feeling like everything in his life had clicked into place at the mere sight of him. Never mind that he was currently standing there, unmoving. He was happy. Fucking god, he missed him. He could feel his heart physically ache at the longing to rush forward and embrace him and never ever let him go again.

"Hey," Blaine said, a ghost of a smile still splayed on his lips as he stared at Kurt, his heart clenching at how lonely his husband seemed. Standing there, a little awkward, the joy stilted, made him feel so out of place terribly small under Kurt's intent gaze.

Kurt's face showed no indication of his feelings but he stepped aside and opened the door wider, an invitation for Blaine to step in. Blaine's smiled dimmed a little at Kurt's indifference, but stepped in gratefully and surveyed the room that Kurt had called home the past weeks.

It was shabby. The paint on the walls was peeling, the blinds lopsided, the lights dim and flickering, and the bed sheets so ugly and looking so unsanitary he could hardly believe it was livable. It was such a stark contrast to the comfort and beauty of their New York apartment that the guilt in Blaine's gut felt just a little heavier at the thought of Kurt living here. _His_ Kurt would never have settled for this, never would have allowed himself to live in such conditions. The entire place was so depressing that Blaine could scarcely imagine anyone living in such a place and be _happy_. He shook away the idea that Kurt wasn't _his_ Kurt anymore.

He heard the lock latch into place as he turned around, watching Kurt study him carefully.

"Oh, Kurt," he whispered, his voice broken as he took a tentative step forward and tried hard not to deflate at Kurt's lack of response.

Fuck, _he did this_. He did this to his strong, brave husband. He had effectively reduced him to but a sliver of his old self, feeling his decisions draw tight against his body. Kurt looked sad. There was no fancy way to describe it really, no colorful words to paint a picture that could capture the essence of what Kurt seemed to him now. Kurt was sad, and it transcended every molecule of his body and emanated as something that brought more guilt and self-loathing in Blaine.

But he was here now. He was here and he wasn't going anywhere and he was itching to tell Kurt exactly how he felt. He could feel every fiber of his being shaking with excitement at the prospect of seeing the joy in Kurt's eyes once he'd announced his discoveries, and told him Kurt was his _everything_. Kurt was his strength, and fuck it, he wanted to tell Kurt just how much that meant. But he couldn't because Kurt was currently staring at him so insouciantly that it made Blaine shiver. This wasn't his Kurt, and for his sanity, good god, he wanted him back.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Kurt's lip quivered, and his eyes watered, feeling his body tremble before shaking fully as he buried his face in his hands and allowed his tears to fall freely. He was falling apart, letting the walls crumble and betraying emotions he was careful to stow away. He needed to numb the pain, to step on all the heartbreak so he could find a reason to get out of bed each morning and not simply end it. But now, here, faced with Blaine, _his_ Blaine, the man he vowed to love through every circumstance, he could scarcely imagine himself stoic and solid and unfeeling. He hoped for weeks that he'd return and mend his broken heart, and now that he was here, he could no longer contain any of the pain locked away, now allowing it to burst free, to let it go completely and purge his heart of the hurt.

At the sound of the broken sob, Blaine rushed forward and gathered Kurt securely in his arms, holding him impossibly close and allowing the comfort to transcend the tears and the pain, to feel tangible as he held him strong, keeping him close to him and allowing his own tears to fall unabashedly. Kurt was real and solid in his arms, as real and tangible as he could get. He had missed him, and now here he was, holding him digging his fingers on his back if only to cling to him and never let him go.

"Oh god, Kurt," he cried, sniffing and burying his face in Kurt's hair, tightening his arms around him. "Kurt, I'm right here. I'm right here. I'm so sorry," he murmured, kissing the top of his head "But I'm here now and I'm back and I'm never leaving again. I promise, I promise baby," he babbled emotionnaly.

"Blaine," Kurt sobbed, the first word he'd uttered, sounding as broken as he felt, Blaine's arms around like a balm soothing the aches he acquired in Blaine's absence. "Oh, god."

"I'm here, baby," he soothed, hoping he sounded reassuring even as his voice quivered with the intensity of his emotions. "I'm here and I'm never leaving again."

At that Kurt tightened his hold, letting out another sob and feeling his body slacken simultaneously with relief and exhaustion. "Blaine," he sobbed again, repeating the name like a mantra, a benediction on his lips, like salvation.

"I love you so much."

"I love you," Kurt replied, his words an absolution to Blaine, forgiveness in three words they had exchanged countless times in the past but now meant more, weighed more, felt more than just a declaration of love.

Blaine pulled away slightly, enough to cradle Kurt's face in both his hands and rest their foreheads together, intent on allowing Kurt to understand the magnitude of the things he was about to say.

"I was stupid, Kurt," he said through his tears. "I was stupid and fuck, I'm so sorry. These past weeks have been hell, and now I know I'm absolutely _nothing_ without you." He sniffed closing his eyes and pressing his lips to Kurt's skin frantically.

Kurt opened his mouth to say something, to apologize for making him feel contained, for suffocating him, for forcing him into a marriage he probably wasn't ready to be in. He had convinced himself that this was all his fault, that Blaine wouldn't have found the need to find himself if they had taken their time. But Blaine shook his head, preventing Kurt from uttering words so far from the truth. Blaine couldn't allow Kurt to believe that, to think that any of this mess was his own doing. It was nothing short of blasphemous.

"You make me _everything_, Kurt. With you I feel more and see more and become _more_, so much more than who I can be on my own. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I made you feel like this was your fault, that our marriage caused any of this screwed up logic, but fuck. There is nothing farther from the truth. You, and our marriage... What we have... Together— our entire life," he said, "it's all that matters to me. I'm who I am _because_ of all of this and fuck, I'm so glad for that. I'm happy— you make me happy. And I'm sorry if I ever found a reason to doubt that."

"Blaine..."

"I'm so sorry, baby," he said, allowing their tears and breaths to mix as Blaine held Kurt's face in his palms. "I want this, I want our life together. I'm sorry I dragged you into this mess. And I'll never forgive myself for hurting you like this. You're... Fuck, you're literally the _best_ thing that has ever happened to my life, and I don't ever want to let you go."

"Blaine—"

"I love you so much Kurt," he said tearfully before he kissed Kurt with force, the touch of their lips mixed with tears as they moved together in practiced synchrony grounding him in an instant.

And god, that kiss— that one single searing kiss felt like coming home, like finding his place in the universe, like being ensconced in love so unconditional it made Blaine's knees buckle.

He put all of himself into the kiss as he deepened it, moving his tongue with Kurt's and allowing all the unspoken words to be conveyed in that one wet, passionate sensation.

This was where he was meant to be. This was the only thing he believed, the only thing he should have been passionate about. Kurt, and his affection, and their life together, was the only thing that filled him with trust and the only thing he pressed faith and hope in—practically the only that made sense in the middle of all the madness. This was it.

When they finally pulled away, breaths heavy and deep, Kurt allowed himself to hug Blaine back, feeling his sobs subside, replaced instead with the immense love he felt for Blaine, loosening the know in his stomach and making him feel almost as if he was floating.

"I love you so much, Blaine," Kurt sniffed, his voice muffled as he buried his face in the crook of Blaine's neck.

"I know," Blaine replied, running his hand across Kurt's back soothingly. "I won't pretend to know why because I've been really selfish, but god, I love you so much, too."

Kurt shut his eyes tight, feeling the lump in his throat disappear. "Don't leave again, please," he whispered, hating himself for sounding so weak and pathetic, practically begging his husband. But the past weeks had been hell, and he never wanted to relive any single moment of it, never wanted to remember the pain that almost ripped his heart to shreds and had him contemplating ending the loss of his strength as a person.

"Never again," he promised. "Never."

"I'm sorry Blaine, I just—"

"Don't, Kurt. You have nothing to apologize for. I'm sorry I made you think any of this was your fault. It's not. So please, please baby, stop."

Kurt sniffed, kissing Blaine's neck tenderly and inhaling his scent, committing it to memory. "I'm sorry I wasn't enough to convince you."

"Kurt," Blaine sighed, drawing Kurt closer to him and feeling his heart beat against him, comforting and warm and real.

"I must have been doing my job wrong if you ever thought—"

"Kurt, stop. Please," he pleaded, unable to take the searing pain in his chest at hearing Kurt speak so low of himself. "Please stop. You did everything right. Everything. There's nothing you should have done differently. I was the one who should have paused and thought about things instead of... _This_," he laughed humorlessly, causing Kurt to pull away and look at him curiously.

Blaine shrugged, leading Kurt to the decrepit bed as he made a mental note to install the thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets as soon as they got home because Kurt deserved the best. He sat down gingerly and pulled Kurt down next to him, allowing the brunette to rest his head on Blaine's shoulder as he wrapped his arm around him. Blaine kissed the top of his head, inhaling the scent of his hair and noting how different it smelled. It still smelled good, clean, but it wasn't what he was accustomed to, not the one he associated with his husband at all.

They sat there for a long time, unaware of the sun setting and the hour growing late until Kurt almost fell asleep as he rested his head on Blaine's shoulder.

With a small, almost wistful smile, Blaine squeezed Kurt and kissed the top of his head. "I think it's time I take you home."

xxx

Now safely ensconced in the warm comfort of their bed, his pajamas clean and his hair smelling like the way Blaine was accustomed to, Kurt tried to process the events of the day. He woke up feeling hopeless, dejected, ready to just scream at the voice in his head telling him this wasn't worth it. He felt like he was bordering on insanity, like any minute he could just snap and sob and then find himself cutting in the cheap motel's bathtub. And just when he was all but on the edge of snapping, the sharp rap on his door signaled the arrival of the only person who could have pulled him out of that self-destructive funk.

It felt strange, being back in his bed with Blaine turned towards him and hugging him, burying his face in his chest with Kurt absently running his fingers through Blaine's curls. It felt strange because standing there, earlier that day, numb and completely unknowing how to react had almost felt like having the life sucked out of him, like everything he knew from before he left seemed like a lifetime ago. But now, here, tucked away in their little nook in Manhattan, trying to orient himself, he struggled to find peace. Answers. Any sort of absolution or consolation or understanding. Because yes, he understood that Blaine needed the time away to realize some things, but he didn't understand how that helped at all.

"You're thinking out loud," Blaine whispered, adjusting himself so he was clinging on to Kurt a little more snugly. He was intoxicated by Kurt's presence, needing to be pressed up against him through every inch of his body that he could manage.

"Sorry," Kurt murmured, pressing an absent kiss to Blaine's curls.

He was happy. He was. He was happy to be back, cradled tenderly in Blaine's arms. But it didn't mean the story ended there. There was still unrest, a myriad of questions and confusion clouding him and hindering him from enjoying every moment of their reunion. He couldn't necessarily say he resented Blaine, but he couldn't just let everything go.

Blaine sighed, nosing at the fabric of Kurt's shirt before he readjusted himself and set his palms down on Kurt's chest and rested his chin on the back of his hands. "Don't be. Tell me what you're thinking about."

Blaine wasn't stupid. He knew Kurt had questions, and he knew Kurt's thoughts ran incredibly deep. Kurt's silence, and his own reticence, felt stifling now in the middle of the night, even as he basked in the comfort of being in Kurt's arms. And there was no room for stifling. He had asked Kurt to leave to escape that stifling thing, and now, here—there was absolutely no place for it.

Kurt licked his lips and frowned in thought, his eyes staring intently at the ceiling as his fingers threaded through Blaine's hair. "I was just wondering what you did all this time," he said quietly. "But I won't ask unless you're ready to tell me."

To Blaine, unless he was able to speak freely about their time apart, his and Kurt's relationship would be stilted. It would be a wall, a colossal barrier that would impede them from moving forward, and he couldn't have that. He wouldn't. Kurt deserved more, deserved everything, deserved an explanation for the shit he had put him through.

"You can ask," he replied, gazing at Kurt and studying his expression as he continued to stare at the ceiling. "Ask me anything. There's nothing I'm going to keep from you."

At that, Kurt cracked a small smile. "Total honesty policy?"

"Total honesty policy," he confirmed, feeling heat blossom in his chest at the sight of that small smile.

Kurt was silent for a while, undoubtedly trying to organize his thoughts and gather them into something cohesive and decipherable. Blaine knew he was also trying to piece together his thoughts in words that were less cutting, less harsh.

"Kurt," Blaine whispered, taking one of his hands and running his knuckles lightly across Kurt's cheek. That earned him another smile from Kurt, who met his eyes briefly before casting them back to the ceiling.

"What did you do?" Kurt asked finally, his choice of words simple and straight to the point, but abounding in question and implications.

Blaine kept his gaze on Kurt, ready to pour his heart out to this man, ready to bare his soul for him to see. There was nothing he was going to hide, and he feared no judgment, not from this man. "I found myself."

"How?"

"I went to Ohio, visited some people. Came back to New York, did some things..."

"What kind of things?"

"Just... Tried out some new things, had some meaningful conversations. It was like... Looking through a window and finding all these different parts of myself that I had overlooked."

Kurt pursed his lips. "Hmmm. That's good," he said thoughtfully, still not looking at Blaine.

Because it was—it was good. He was happy to know that the pain-filled weeks had been worth it, that whatever Blaine sought out to do was accomplished, even if it came at the expense of his sanity.

Blaine couldn't exactly read his expression, but he barreled through. "I realized some things though."

"What kind of things?"

Blaine paused, cupping Kurt's cheek and urging him to meet his gaze. When he did, Blaine smiled at him. "That the best version of myself has always been Blaine Anderson Hummel. It's... All-encompassing I suppose. With you, I'm not just Blaine Anderson or Blaine Warbler or whatever. I'm _Blaine_. You see right through me all the time and you know me inside out. And when we're together, when you're with me and I'm safe in the knowledge that you love me, it's like I can do anything and be anything. I'm... so incomplete and half-baked without you."

Kurt's hand stilled from playing with Blaine's hair, his head trying to wrap around the things Blaine had just uttered. And then he chuckled, soft and half-hearted, but a chuckle nonetheless, averting his gaze and setting it back on the ceiling.

"I should be really mad at you right now," Kurt said, his expression caught between laughing and crying. He couldn't quite decide what he was supposed to be feeling in the first place.

Blaine frowned, but sighed knowing it was true. "As is your right."

Kurt shook his head, swallowing. "You put me through hell for something I could have easily reminded you about had you asked, had you told me about your concerns. We have total honesty a policy and you chose to overlook that."

Blaine winced, the tone of Kurt's voice something he was unable to measure. But he knew there was nothing Kurt was saying that wasn't true.

"But god. I love you so much and I'm willing to go through hell again if only to make sure you'll never doubt who you are and how much I love you ever again."

"Kurt..."

"You hurt me, Blaine," he said frankly, punctuating his name as he looked down and fixed Blaine with a stare. "And I'm really still trying to process all of this and I'm trying so hard to understand you. But I can't make this about myself. I won't. I love you and you asked for time and I gave it to you. I can't fault you for trying to be a better person. I love you so much and I really, really, desperately hope that this is the last time I'm going to spend any time apart away from you... Because, god," he shook his head, averting his eyes again as he felt them water. "That pain? That's not pain I was willing to live through for much longer. But god—I'll always want you to be happy."

Blaine stayed quiet until realization dawned in his eyes and he finally understood Kurt's words. His eyes widened and he felt even more like a selfish brute for it. It didn't sound like Kurt at all, but the magnitude of the situation and the effect it had on Kurt was finally making sense to Blaine and shifted his position to pull Kurt and hug his body fully against his.

"I love you, Kurt," he said, his heart pounding in his chest and felt Kurt hug him back. "And I'm sorry. I know I hurt you but I promise... I'm so much more ready to... To _cherish_ you now."

"Don't put me through that again, Blaine. Please."

"No more, I promise," Blaine whispered. "It's just you and I Kurt. Always."

Blaine wondered if as a child, he dreamed too much. And he supposed he did. He dreamt of bright futures and castles and clouds and princes and success. He dreamt of achieving, of setting goals and reaching them, of stars sometimes too big or too bright or too hot for him to handle. And maybe, for a moment, he dreamt a little bigger, discontent with what he had, not realizing that he was overlooking the brightest star in the galaxy in the palm of his hand. His Kurt, his everything, was his greatest dream, and he was damn thankful to whatever deity was out there in the universe for allowing him to hold on to that star even after he was momentarily blinded by things he thought would make him happier. But there was nothing that could make him happier, or complete, or any more whole than Kurt, and for that, for the brightest star of all now nestled in his strong comforting hold, never to let go and always to love, he was eternally gratefully.

_So I'll let you go, I'll set you free_

_And when you see what you need to see_

_When you find you, come back to me_

* * *

I forgot to mention that I got the title from the song "Stars" by Fun. And that I don't own Rent or any of the songs in it. Also, that I'm a big Mark Foster fan and Cooper's views aren't necessarily mine. Okay. Yeah.

Also, translations in Tagalog. Anak ko is my child, payneta is a hair accessory (like the one in Mulan), Tita is aunt and Lola is grandmother. Makulit is rambunctious.

THANKS FOR READING, LOVELY PEOPLE!


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